


A Lesson in Patience: Book Four

by Shaymed



Series: A Lesson in Patience [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 18:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaymed/pseuds/Shaymed
Summary: Anarchaia, Koltira, and Taveth join Khadgar in Karazhan. Alisbeth has an accident which changes her personality.
Series: A Lesson in Patience [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1034279
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

The morning sun was peeking over the edge of the city in the sky. Taveth was finally healing from his altercation with Spinewing. He and Diori were taking their breakfast in the Legerdemain Lounge, knowing at any moment Grimory and Alisbeth would come down—Grimory having stayed up late and Alisbeth of the disposition to remain in her room with him until he woke.

A fair-skinned, fair-haired elf enters the tavern, spotting the two quickly. She forces the books onto the table as though they weighed a ton, and smiles. “Here’s your books, nerd.”

“I thought Khadgar would be bringing them?” Taveth looks around his sister as though the tall Archmage might be behind her.

Kel’ori lifts a blonde eyebrow over her blue eyes. “Eager to see him?” She laughs. “You and your heroes. No, he’s preparing to take off with that apprentice of his, Anarchaia. Karazhan, I think they said.”

“K-Karazhan? I-I have to go, I have to ask if I can come. The _research_ I could do! Can you watch Diori? I’ll be right back.”

She grabs his arm and pushes him back into the chair. “_You_ stay here, and I’ll go ask. They’re in the Hall, you can’t exactly just waltz in there.” She ruffles Diori’s hair and smiles. “How’s my favorite baby sister, anyway?”

The small elf giggles tiredly as her hair is messed and she chews her oatmeal. “Good! I’m excited for lessons today.”

Grimory yawns tiredly as he steps down the sturdy wooden steps. He rubs at an eye and gives Kel’ori a wave. “Oh. Hi, again.” He pulls up a chair to sit in it backwards and combs a hand through his mane.

Kel’ori smiles and kisses Diori’s cheek. “Right. You eat all that up, help you think.” She leaves in a spark of light.

Taveth blinks the dots from his eyes, then gives the girl a devilish smile. “We don’t have to tell sissy if we skip lessons, do we? Bet you’d rather go on an adventure! Learn some _real_ things. I’ll need more books.” He leafs through his books, smiling at the restored pages, though the color from the run still smears across the pages.

Diori’s eyes light up. “An adventure?”

Grimory narrows his eyes. “What kind of adventure? The dangerous kind?”

“Those are the best kind,” Alisbeth says, wrapping her arms around Grimory from behind.

“No, no. Should be safe. Just Karazhan.” Taveth smiles at the two.

Grimory scowls. “There’s a reason Karazhan is closed to the general public.” He sets a hand on Alisbeth’s arm.

In a flash of light and a loud crack, Kel’ori returns to the inn. “He said yes. I guess you earned points with him with the books and the stone thingy.”

Taveth stands, smoothing his leather vest absently. “Oh! Well, I-I… I need books and pens. My satchel. This will be amazing!”

“Taveth.”

“Yes?”

“You’re getting flustered. Go pack.”

“Heh.” He smiles at the others. “N-no time to lose!”

Kel’ori rolls her eyes after him, then smiles at Grimory. “I forgot to say hi back.”

Grimory gives a tired smile and leans his head back. “I’m used to it.” He gives Alisbeth an apprehensive glance. “You think it’s a good idea? I mean…I suppose my opinion doesn’t mean much but _Karazhan?_ I don’t know…”

Diori looks up at Alisbeth from behind Grimory’s back, eyes wide and pleading and cheeks full of oats.

“I think that—”

“Fucking balls, it’s true! You really are alive.” Kel’ori goes to lift Alisbeth’s hair and inspect it.

Alisbeth slaps her away. “I think it’ll be fine…if we go. Tav is too scared to— _Stop it!_” She slaps her cousin’s hand harder.

The Illidari groans. “I’m kind of done going out of the city for a while. You can go…if the old man even permits it.”

Alisbeth pouts and whines through puckered lips. “But I don’t want to go if you don’t go.”

Kel’ori makes a face. “Gods, you’re worse than when you were alive. How’s the Light treating you these days, oh pious one?”

“Suck a cock, Kel.” Alisbeth raises her middle finger as emphasis.

“Don’t blame me for your downfall.”

Alisbeth frowns and hides her face in Grimory’s back. “Don’t listen to her, Diori. She’s what we call a snatch. And she says lies about me.”

Grimory scowls at the language and presses his palms over Diori’s ears. “Snitch. She means snitch,” he says down to her, despite deafening her.

Diori blinks her large eyes and nods slowly, though she didn’t hear.

“Wow, you are such a bad mother,” Kel’ori says, then leans in to whisper, “No wonder you abandoned her.”

Alisbeth grabs the top of the elf’s head, threading her finger through her hair, and slams her forehead into the table. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that!”

Grimory instinctively scoops Diori into his arms as the table quakes and stands. He gives Alisbeth a nervous look. “Not in front of her.”

The innkeeper runs over, her eyes wide as she holds her hands out for them to stop. “What is going on over here? Alisbeth, you know better.”

The death knight fidgets, then quickly whispers in the human woman’s ear what was said. The elf purses her lips at the mage.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“_What?_ Why me? She got violent!”

She nods. “Yes, but when you provoke Anarchaia’s guest on purpose, I have to intervene before something gets broken.”

Anarchaia steps into the lounge with her teacher in tow. She has a large satchel over her shoulder and her hood up to stave off the bright morning sun. The two stop at the scene. “Uhm,” she chirps. “Good morning?”

Alisbeth gives a gentle smile to Diori. “Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But, she’s mean. And mean people need to be taught lessons, right? You don’t say mean things, do you?” She strokes the girl’s hair gently

Diori shrinks into Grimory’s pectoral, a cheek still full of oats. She shakes her head. “Mm-mm.”

Kel’ori’s lips curve into a devilish smirk, before she feigns excitement. “You’re Anarchaia. Oh, my gods. Hi! I’ve heard so much about you and that you’re so smart and you’ve learned more than students _my_ age. Can I take a S.E.L.F.I.E. with you?” A camera poofs into her hand.

Anarchaia blinks and hesitates, not familiar with the feeling of being fondly recognized. “U-Uh. Sure, I suppose. Heh.” She gives a painful smile beneath her mask as the photo is snapped, then clears her throat. “I’d love to sit and chat about…learning but we were hoping Taveth would be here. We’re close to running late. Heh. Sorry.”

“He left to pack,” Grimory says as he gently sets Diori back in her spot to finish her breakfast.

“We’ll only be there a day,” Khadgar says in a low voice as though speaking more to himself than anyone else.

“You still need to get out,” the innkeeper says to Kel’ori.

The elf glares at her and then at Alisbeth. “This isn’t over, Miss Perfect.” She kisses Diori on the top of the head, then ports out in a flash.

“No teleporting in my building!” the woman calls angrily.

Taveth runs through the doorway, checking his bag. He bumps into the back of Khadgar and falls to the floor. The elf stares up at the man, his face creeping to crimson. “I-I am sosososo sorry. I-I should look…where I’m going.” He swallows and wishes for a moment that he were invisible.

Diori smiles and waves at Taveth.

Khadgar turns and gives a quiet chuckle, then offers a hand to assist him back to his feet. “Quite all right. Collected everything, have you?”

Taveth’s blush remains, though it dulls some as he avoids looking directly into Khadgar’s eyes. “Y-yes. I have, uh, three new journals and three pens and a well of spare ink, plus some sample bottles—i-if you don’t mind me taking samples, that is!” He shifts the bag and checks to make sure his dagger is still secured in the outer pocket. He eyes Grimory as he feels the item, then casts his gaze back to the two in front of him. “Oh! Anarchaia, so nice to see you again.”

Alisbeth frowns and folds her arms. “Mean girls are the worst. Tav says I was his childhood bully, but he doesn’t realize that her use of ‘nerd’ is not a term of endearment. How does she treat you?” she asks Diori. “Do I need to rough her up for you?”

Diori shakes her head and smiles. “Sissy is always so nice. She’s never hurt me.” Her smile fades. “Please don’t hurt her again…”

Alisbeth forces a pained smile. “I can’t _promise_ that I won’t, but I can try.”

“That depends on the samples,” Khadgar mumbles nervously.

Anarchaia grins and gives a smile accompanied by a wave. “How are your journals? Did Kalec do a good job?”

Taveth shifts nervously. “Heh, o-of course I’ll ask, first, sir.” He smiles wider at Anarchaia. “He did a fantastic job! The smudged ink is still there, but I don’t care about that. The words have all been restored! Oh! Did you get what you wanted out of them?” He shifts back to addressing Khadgar, staring at his face for a second, before his eyes flit elsewhere.

“I did. I had Ana copy everything into a separate tome for our collection in the library. I…hope you don’t mind.” Khadgar turns, ushering for the two to follow.

“Oh, right. Kolt is waiting for us.” Anarchaia waves at the three in the lounge. “Bye, guys!” She scurries after her mentor, pulling Taveth behind her.

He chuckles nervously. “Oh, that’s quite all right. Anything to help. Oh! Wait!” Taveth pulls free of Anarchaia to give Diori a goodbye hug. “I guess we’ll have to learn another time. Enjoy your lessons.” He kisses the top of her head.

“Okay!” Diori sings and kisses his cheek. “Be careful!”

Alisbeth leans over the table to give his shoulder a weak punch. “Be safe, Tabbef. Or I’ll resurrect you and you’ll be stuck like me.”

“Care to demonstrate your newfound ability to teleport three people, and bring us downstairs?” Khadgar says down to his student with a smile as Taveth nears.

“Can’t you just teleport us all the way there? Or make a portal?” Anarchaia responds with a nervous titter.

“Don’t be lazy.” The Archmage takes her hand in his and holds out the other for Taveth to take.

Anarchaia groans with apprehension.

“Heh.” Taveth swallows and takes the man’s hand. “G-good to practice.” He gives Anarchaia an encouraging, yet shy smile.

Anarchaia mutters something under her breath and grabs Taveth’s other hand. “Don’t let go.” After a brief moment of collecting, she teleports the trio. Once in the tall room just below the Chamber of the Guardian, she exhales and stirs.

Khadgar grasps her by the upper arm to steady her and smiles. “Well done. Only took twenty years,” he laughs and directs the two to a portal near the bottom of the slow sloping stairs. “Second to last.”

Taveth fails hiding the Alisbeth-like grin on his lips as he steps through. The tall spires of Karazhan tower over him, birds circling the top—looking miniscule, though he knows they’re not. He immediately takes out his first blank journal and begins sketching the castle across two adjacent pages to capture its width.

Anarchaia leans over his shoulder as he sketches and hums a note. “So, you do do all your own illustrations. Very nice. You and Grim have something in common.” She chuckles and steps ahead of him. While actively avoiding looking up at the spires and ignoring the ominous feeling in the pit of her being, she smiles as a familiar face comes into view. “Did we keep you waiting long? I hope not…”

Taveth smiles, but doesn’t look away or stop drawing. “Yes, I find that doing my own art for the research is best, as I don’t much like taking a partner along. Too much talking.” He glances at her and grimaces. “N-not that I’m loathe to be here with you and Khadgar, heh.” He shoves his glasses up his nose and puts his face back to the book. “And Koltira. Hi.”

Koltira looks up from his investigation of some destroyed rocks. “Oh, not long. Though, I should have brought a book.” He cocks an eyebrow at Taveth, then gives Anarchaia a look. “Hello, Taveth. And Archmage Khadgar, always a pleasure.” He gives the man a respectful bow.

“Always,” Khadgar responds with the slightest of nods. He strides past the party to the door—barricaded by a portcullis that rises at his approach. He digs around in the satchel at his hip and frowns after a moment. “I… The key.” He perks as Anarchaia’s hand slinks up beside him, a large skeleton key between her fingers. “Oh. Right. Heh.” He unlocks the door before pushing it open gently.

Anarchaia leans her shoulder against Koltira’s arm. “So how have you been? Busy?”

Koltira wraps his arm around the mage for a tight squeeze, then releases, unsure how to act with her around Khadgar. “I’ve been…thinking, mostly. Aiding the Deathlord with…things.” He shrugs. “How have you been? I…” his voice drops to a whisper, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Anarchaia flushes, but frowns slightly at the hush in his voice. “I’ve missed you too. Well, heh, I’ve been asleep, but I still…” She shudders as they cross the threshold into the cold lower chambers. The sconces light themselves as the doors close behind the party.

“Hm,” Khadgar muses as he looks at the shadows on the walls. “Something’s…off.”

Taveth looks up from his drawing and glances around. “Off?” His hand drifts to feel the dagger through the leather, reassuring him.

The hairs on the back of Koltira’s neck stand up and he frowns. “Undead are here.”

Khadgar grins back at them. “You don’t say.” He turns to the stairway leading to the ballroom on the floor above. “But in all seriousness, I believe you’re right, Deathweaver. It’s been years since anyone but myself has been here. I imagine it has a few new residents.” He runs a gloved finger along the banister and notes the thick dust. He looks at Taveth. “You’ll get plenty of sediment samples at least, no?”

“O-oh! Right. Thank you.” Taveth pulls out a small jar and urges a good amount from the banister. He corks it and slips it into his bag. When he turns around he stops, finding Koltira staring at him. “What?”

“Isn’t it just dirt?”

Taveth leans back as though slapped. “The sedimentary composition of the ‘dirt’ can be effected by weather, spiritual movements, location, and the particles can identify the inhabitants—”

“Okay, okay. I really thought the explanation would be short. Keep playing with the dirt.”

Anarchaia gives a quiet titter and shrugs. “Dust is mostly dead skin.” She wiggles her fingers at Taveth. “I wonder what’s in here that has skin, hm?”

Taveth stares at his shoe and mumbles, “I know what dust is made of.”

Khadgar shudders at the thought as they reach the top of the staircase. “Rats, stray cats, bats…” He pauses. “And other things that rhyme, I’m certain.” He notices a small piece of rubble lying on the tattered carpet and picks it up, then finds its correct location within the pillar beside him and pushes it into the empty alcove. The seams around the stone disappear as it’s restored. “What do you think, Ana? There isn’t too much structural damage. We could repair most of the building ourselves.”

The smaller mage hums as she glances around the empty ballroom. She notices the chandeliers on the ceiling and lights them from afar with a wave of a hand. “I suppose. The dust would be difficult. And I’m willing to bet a lot of damaged items are missing their respective pieces.”

A quiet wail sounds from the depths of the spires above. The undead bites her lip and hesitates before glancing past her teacher and into the adjacent room. She narrows her eyes suspiciously and steps over to the massive open archway. Tables line the room—all filled with food.

“Look,” she says in a hushed tone, urging the men forward.

Khadgar pushes past her into the room with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. “Squatters, perhaps? But how could they have possibly prepared all this?” He takes off a glove and sets the pad of a thumb on an unlitcandle in its holder. “It’s warm,” he says, eyes narrowing.

Koltira blinks as he sees people sitting in the chairs. He rubs his thumb and forefinger over his eyes and the vision is gone. “I don’t think they’re your typical sort of squatters.”

Taveth follows Koltira’s gaze and sees nothing. He opens his book and begins sketching he lively banquet hall, making notes about the items being warm and the remarks the others are making.

Nodding at Koltira’s suggestion, Khadgar takes a step away from the table as a chill runs through him. “Ana. Invisibility.”

Anarchaia nods and does as she’s commanded. Her form fades from existence as it melds into the scenery. When she returns only moments later she hugs herself. “Definitely not typical. Skeletons and specters. They…saw me. Heh.”

A hush falls over the room. One-by-one the seats fill with ghastly and angry looking patrons, eyes locked on the intruders in the doorway.

Taveth takes a step back and finds himself backed against a pillar, his book pressed to his chest. “Well, isn’t that a nice turn of events.”

“Stay behind me,” Koltira says, as though Taveth might have the urge to step forward.”


	2. Chapter 2

Khadgar hesitates with his staff as he scans the faces before him. After a long moment of apprehensive staring, a chair skids across the floor as a few of the guests stand. The skeletal butlers screech angrily. The Archmage quickly slams the bottom of Atiesh on the stone floor and a blinding light fills the entire banquet hall. The specters all shriek as their forms disintegrate into smoke and sparkles. Khadgar turns with a nervous grin. “I guess we weren’t invited.”

Koltira releases the handle of Byfrost and breathes out. “Well, that was easy.”

“Fascinating!” Taveth says, taking a step toward Khadgar. “Is the power all in Atiesh or you? I know the staff itself is quite powerful, but does most of—”

“Taveth,” Koltira warns.

Khadgar blinks before a hint of color fills his cheeks and he chuckles. “It’s all right. I am a teacher, after all. I studied for many years before I acquired my Master’s staff. That particular spell was taught to me by an old friend, however.” He chews on a thought. “Would you like to hold it?”

Anarchaia takes a step away from the two and leans over to Koltira with a mischievous smile. “This is as boring as I’d expected.”

Taveth smiles nervously. “I-I— May I?”

Koltira chuckles and pulls her under his arm, turning his head to press his nose into her mask. “Maybe for us. Dare I say our little friend has a crush?”

Anarchaia gives an awkward sort of chortle and wraps her own arms about his waist. “Better him than Grim, no?”

Koltira shakes his head. “Maybe he should stick to his own kind, though. Reaching too high.”

Anarchaia snorts and gives a huff up at him. “What’s wrong with reaching up? I don’t mind it.”

“Just…don’t break it.” Khadgar holds out Atiesh with an encouraging smile.

Taveth puts his book away with one hand and reaches for the staff with his other. Once his fingers wrap around the wood, thoughts hiss into his mind, quickly growing to a scream. Something grows hotter and hotter until it’s burning the back of his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and grunts, then backs away. “That’s um…something best admired from afar, I guess.” He lifts his hand out of his bag and finds a narrow red mark across the back.

Khadgar quickly retracts the staff as he notices the discomfort in the elf’s face. “Strange. You wouldn’t happen to be a warlock?” He notices the mark and summons a roll of gauze. “Are you all right? Please, allow me. My apologies.”

“A w-warlock? I-is there something special about that?” He wraps his hand, quickly, trying to hide it from the Archmage.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Koltira asks, cocking an eye at the other two.

“Oh, are we not talking physically?” she laughs as she eyes the other two. “Though metaphorically I’d still be considered to be reaching out of my league.”

Khadgar sends the gauze away, pretending not to notice his desperate attempt to hide his hand. “Meryl won’t touch it. He’s said that arcane magic and the fel are two sides of the same coin, but there’s a reason the faces of a coin are of opposite sides.”

Koltira shakes his head. “Yes, you are miles above the league of a bottom-feeder like me.” He furrows his brow. “Tav, you okay?”

“M-m fine, heh.” He reaches into his bag for his book. “So, Meryl. I thought he was a mage?” A reflection catches his glasses and he stops, pulling them from his nose. “Oh, heh. W-we have m-more company.”

Anarchaia huffs again and opens her mouth to retort to Koltira’s self-loathing but stops at the sound of footsteps. An incredibly aged man accompanied by four others step down from the dais. “I don’t recall your names. On the roster, I mean,” he growls, his arms folded neatly at the small of his crooked back.

Khadgar narrows his eyes. “Moroes. I…didn’t expect to find any familiar faces here.” He pauses. “Or any for that matter. I’m…sorry. I seem to have, ehm, murdered your dinner guests.”

The man pauses. “The Guardian’s apprentice.” He scoffs. “If it were literally anyone else I’d be wont to slaughter you all.” He glares at the other three for a long while, then rumbles with low, dry laughter. “What brings you? Here, that is.”

“Showing my apprentice around,” Khadgar replies. He cranes his neck around for Anarchaia when Moroes lifts an eyebrow in Taveth’s direction. “That one.”

Anarchaia gives a timid wave and the man grunts.

“Well. Be on your guard. The upper levels are…unstable.”

“That can be expected after more than twenty-five years of decay. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

Taveth waves nervously at the decayed specter. “H-hello. Heh.”

Koltira blinks curiously. “Well, isn’t this…pleasant.”

Moroes scowls. “You’ve killed the butlers—”

“Right!” Khadgar continues as though he’s an enthralled tour guide, directing his own party toward the hallway at the opposite end of the ballroom. “There’s guest chambers upstairs. Perhaps those have maintained their quality over the years.”

Anarchaia pulls Koltira along by a hand and motions for Taveth to follow. “Doubtful. Fabric is the worst for decay.”

Taveth gives Moroes one final smile, then catches up to walk close to Anarchaia. “Too much to hope all encounters end so cordially?”

Koltira chuckles at the other man and squeezes on the mage’s hand. “I’m afraid it is, my friend.”

Taveth stops. “I’m your friend?”

“It’s just— It’s— … Yeah, sure.”

Anarchaia nudges Koltira with her knuckles and chuckles quietly. “You’re all of our friend. Come on. I bet there’s books upstairs. Perhaps Master will take us to the library later.”

Khadgar runs his glove up the banister again as he ascends the stairs, thoughts running through his head as he listens to the trio behind him. “I don’t see why not,” he mumbles quietly.

Taveth stops in his tracks again. “Th-the Karazhan library? Really? Could we? That—That would be… I can’t—”

Koltira grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him up the stairs. “Don’t wet yourself, kid.”

“As long as you’re supervised and don’t take anything,” the Archmage adds as he pushes in a displaced chair at a table overlooking the ballroom. “The guest quarters are down this hallway. You may find something of interest there.” He steps out of the way as Anarchaia quickly pushes past him with both other men in tow.

“Old timey clothes?!” she barks excitedly. “Kolt, dress up with me!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Taveth says, matching pace eagerly with the mage. “Like being a part of history.”

Koltira grumbles. “I was already part of history…”

“You’re dressing up. Two against one.”

Khadgar chews on his lower lip as he resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You all have fun with that. I’ll just see to tidying up this hallway.” He uprights an overturned cocktail table with magic as though to demonstrate his meaning.

Anarchaia scoffs at him before stepping into a barren bedroom. “He’s no fun anymore. Ten years ago he’d not even give it a second thought.” She throws open a wardrobe and starts rummaging. “Formal or casual, Koltira?”

Koltira hesitates in the doorway. “You know, Khadgar looked like he could use some help out there.” He backs slowly away.

Taveth opens the wardrobe adjacent and rummages through the clothing. He coughs as a cloud of dust hits him in the face.

She leans to look at him from behind the open wardrobe door, then speaks in a hushed yet loud whisper in Gutterspeak. <<Do this for me and I’ll wear whatever you want me to later.>> She gasps and pulls out a leather jerkin along with a pair of green linen trousers, cowl, and matching leather boots. “Tav! Archer garb!”

Koltira narrows his eyes. <<Even nothing?>>

Taveth turns to look, then stops and turns back, his ears darkening in embarrassment as their private words echo back to him. “Heh. I-I’m no a-archer. Heh. N-no tights for me.”

<<Especially.>> Tossing the outfit aside, she pulls out an ornate set of robes accented with rubies and gold trim. “Ooh. What about this?” She holds it up for Taveth to see. “It comes with a hood.”

He chuckles. “I think that’s more your style.”

Koltira flicks through the clothes. “I think I’d rather you go hoodless, while we’re playing dress-up. You are among friends, after all.” He pulls out a dress with a deep back and a hole at the belly. Koltira cocks an eyebrow at Anarchaia and bites his lower lip.

The undead flushes and gives a nervous titter as she glances at the doorway, Taveth, then back to Koltira. “I-I dunno.” She pulls out a red party mask and pushes it over her mask. “That’s too pretty for me. I think I’d ruin anything I’d wear without my mask. Heh.”

Taveth eyes the mage. “Are you going to throw something at her, or shall I?” He pulls an elegant sky-blue gown from the dresser. Silver chains inlaid with dark sapphires and onyx wrap around the waist. “I think I’d like to see our lady in this.”

Koltira chuckles. “Oh, but where’s the mask?”

“Isn’t one. Such a shame.” He holds the gown over her front and shrugs. “Looks like your size, too.”

Her eyes flick between them before she bristles and snatches the dress from Taveth’s grasp. “Ffffine,” she hisses, “but know that I hate it.” She disappears behind a folding privacy wall. “When I’m done you both better be wearing something else.” Her mask and robes appear over the top of the wall.

Koltira sorts through the clothes, not looking at them as he tries to maybe get a peek at the mage’s silhouette through the paper panels of the divider.

Taveth makes several noises of thought as he goes through the other wardrobe, taking his time to thoroughly assess each article.

Anarchaia pulls off the rest of her clothing and gently slips into the dress. She tsks when she can’t reach the ties in back, then steps out with her arms folded tightly around her torso to hold it up. “I need help,” she mumbles, eyes cast to the floor.

Koltira fumbles and drops several garments to the floor as he blatantly gawks at Anarchaia.

Taveth peeks around the door and waits a beat as the death knight becomes seemingly catatonic. He rolls his eyes and goes to step behind the mage. “Wow, got enough strings back here?”

Anarchaia turns a bright shade of scarlet as she catches Koltira’s eye and turns her head away, making certain her hair hides her face. “You picked it out,” she grumbles to Taveth. “And why aren’t you dressed up?”

“Heh. Haven’t found anything just right.” He leans close to whisper, “I think you broke him.”

The mage bites her lip. “He’s just trying to flatter me.” She purses her lips. “It’s working.”

“Turning to stone isn’t flattery, it’s shock.” He finishes tying her gown and nudges her forward. “Go wake him up.”

Anarchaia hesitates and steps toward the death knight with eyes still firmly locked on the rug. “I-is it nice? Heh. The blue doesn’t clash with my skin or anything…?” She rubs at the stitches in her arm nervously.

Koltira finally blinks. He sets his fingers under her chin and tilts her face up to look at him. “It’s like it was made for you. You look like a princess.”

“Mm-hmm!” Taveth agrees as he rejects more clothing.

She quickly turns away and covers her face. “Stop complimenting me!” she whines, clearly flustered. “And put something on, damnit!”

Koltira turns the mage back around and moves her hair out of her face. “I’ll never stop complimenting you.” He sets a delicate kiss on her lips. “And I have my armor on, that’s something.”

Taveth snickers from across the room.

Anarchaia narrows her eyes and slides her hands up his chest and onto his shoulders, her bones scraping against the metal. She smiles with grit teeth. “We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way, Deathweaver.”

He gives her a mischievous grin. “We already know you like the hard way, but perhaps I’ll go easy on you this time.” He pulls off a gauntlet and lets it clatter to the floor.

Bristling again, she flushes and sets her hands on his waist. The armor and trousers he wears shimmer as they become ethereal for only a moment before falling to the floor in a mass at his feet. Smirking, she turns to go rummage for an outfit for him.

Koltira chuckles and pulls off his shirt over his head. “As long as you don’t make me a knave, I suppose. Or put me in a dress.”

“Robes.” Taveth corrects. He turns to give Koltira a look, then does a double take. “That…has got to be the most unpleasant scar I’ve ever seen.” He reaches into his bag and grabs his journal to start sketching the death knight, noting the tattoos and the scar. “Those tattoos, are they like Grimory’s? Or something else? What caused them? What was—”

“Woah, woah. Calm down. They’re not like Grim’s, no. I’ll fill you in another— Are you drawing me?”

Taveth slaps his book to his chest, his eyes wide. “Heh. I, um, I… Research?”

“Oh, you’re wearing whatever I pull out of that dresser,” the undead hisses as she disappears behind the wardrobe door again. She returns moments later with a formal tunic and undershirt with several silver buttons and ties, a matching cloak and silk pants. She stops to look at Taveth’s drawing before he moves it out of the way. “You should make me a copy of that,” she whispers as she throws the clothes at Koltira.

Koltira eyes the clothing. “Not as bad as I expected.” He removes his trousers and stands in his knickers as he takes the clothes off the hangers.

Taveth returns to finishing his sketch, nodding absently as reply to the mage.

Anarchaia folds her arms and rests on a hip as she watches. “Be happy I chose something I’d like instead of something you wouldn’t like.”

Koltira finishes getting on the trousers, then glances at Taveth. “Hey, what about him?”

Taveth jumps and adjusts his glasses. “I’m still looking.”

“Looks like you’re drawing. Ana, get him.” He pulls the shirt over his head as he laughs mischievously.

Anarchaia grabs Taveth by the front of his shirt and gives the garment the same treatment as Koltira’s armor; the fabric glitters as it pulls free from his torso and solidifies again in her hand once completely off. “If you don’t put something on, I’ll see to it that you won’t have anything to wear.”

The high elf reaches in blindly and grabs an article to cover himself.

Koltira cocks his eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”

Anarchaia gasps and rips the hat out of Taveth’s hands. “Yes,” she simply says and throws it atop his head, the plume in it dancing briefly in the breeze. “Go get the rest.”

Koltira laughs at the elf in the plumed hat and underwear. “Better do what she says before she manhandles you into something.”

Taveth blinks and glances at the closet, then grabs what he assumes is the rest on a hanger. “I suppose it’ll do.”

“Good,” Anarchaia grunts and rummages through the drawers of a dresser. Something lacy and soft catches her hand and she glances over her shoulder before grabbing the garment and sending it away in a flurry of sparkles. She opens another drawer and finds a silk handkerchief that she ties around her upper arm to hide her seam. “Ooh!” She grabs a sparkling brooch and skips over to Koltira to pin it to his tunic. “Dashing.”

“So, what now?” Taveth asks, securing the final buttons on the coat.

Anarchaia grins and holds out a palm. With a _click_ a bulky camera lands gently within it.

Koltira stares at the device for a long time. “So, I bet Khadgar really needs that help now.” He turns for the door.

“I bet he does.” Taveth makes to follow.

The mage lifts a hand and grabs both men by their beings, then pulls them back to stand behind her. “Oh no you don’t!” She turns and leans up into their faces. “You’re both going to take a picture with me and you’re going to smile and look like you’re having fun. Okay?”

Taveth goes stiff. “You’re terrifying when you’re being bossy.”

“No, I’m terrifying when I’m not wearing m— H-hey!”

Koltira takes the camera and hides it behind his back. “Why don’t we actually have fun, instead of just looking like we are? Then maybe we can take a picture.”

She reaches around his torso, desperately grasping for the camera. “Give it back!”

“Nope! Fun first, then pictures of fun. Otherwise I just might frown in any you try to take.”

“Same,” Taveth says, pouting. “I can’t smile without some fun.”

Anarchaia scoffs and leans back. She folds her arms tightly to her chest and scowls. “Fine. Fun. What do you both suggest we do, then, O Masters of Merriment?”

Taveth and Koltira stare at each other, then back at her. The former purses his lips. “Why don’t we ask Khadgar? It is his place, after all.”

Anarchaia flushes and lifts her shoulders. “Are you implying we spend the rest of this trip in these clothes?”

“Me? No. But I will pay you to stay in that dress the whole time,” Koltira says, slipping his arm around her waist. “Let’s just play a little game. Got any drinks readily available?”

Taveth narrows his eyes. “We’re not getting drunk. This is a learning visitation, not a party!”

Anarchaia shrinks more. “I don’t…” _Can’t drink while Master’s around_. “Not sure we should.” She scrunches her face. “I’ll keep it on if you both keep yours on.” She huffs and turns her head. “I want a mask, though.”

Koltira makes a face. “You’re among friends. Can’t you just let us see your beautiful face?”

Taveth holds up a finger. “Ah. Ah. I know!” He rushes to the other wardrobe and shuffles through until he finds a specific outfit, then he searches the pockets. “Here we are!” He trots back and drops a black eyepatch into Anarchaia’s palm. “Please?”

Anarchaia furrows her brow at the object before slipping it over her empty socket. She turns to the mirror and hums in annoyance. “Either it looks like I don’t have eyebrows…” She slides the eye patch to the other eye. “…or it looks like I don’t have eyes.” She sighs and pushes it back over the missing eye. “But if you insist,” she mumbles grabbing her original garb—as well as the others’—and sending them away.

“No one said you have to wear it,” Taveth says, reaching for it.

The mage leans away and covers it. “It’s better than nothing.” She shoves the other two toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go have _fun_.”

“What kind of fun?” Koltira asks. “I mean, no booze is kind of a new one for us, isn’t it?”

“We don’t need it!” Taveth insists. “But I do like the idea of a game.”

Anarchaia sucks her teeth in thought. “First person to get Master to swear gets their clothes back.” She pauses for a moment. “And have either of you played Most Likely?” She steps out into the hallway and stops.

The dust has been completely cleared, tables and chairs returned to their upright positions, torn banners repaired, and books neatly stacked and aligned. Khadgar sits in a lounge sofa near the end of the hall, lazily flipping through a tome.

“Finished?” he calls without looking up, a bite of irritation in his voice.

“I haven’t,” Taveth say to Anarchaia. He hesitates at Khadgar’s tone. “Doesn’t your apprentice look absolutely amazing?” He holds out his hands as though she is on display.

The Archmage closes the book in one hand and sets it atop the stack on the table beside him. He gives Anarchaia a quick glance as he stands, but she scoots behind Koltira with her arms about herself. “Lovely,” he says, his cheeks turning the slightest of pinks. “If you’re all done playing dress up, perhaps we can get back to the tour?”

The undead nods and gently pushes the two toward her teacher. “Of course,” she says with a nervous laugh. “Sorry to make you wait so long. Heh.”

“Wouldn’t you say Anarchaia can be quite the pain in the ass?” Koltira asks.

Taveth rolls his eyes and readies his notebook and pen.

Khadgar gives Koltira a sideways glance as they near the theater. “Often times, yes.” He turns to give his apprentice the same glance. “What do you think, Ana?”

Koltira purses his lips as Taveth gives him a thumbs-down. The death knight makes a face back.

The girl shrinks some. “I’m not the easiest student, I know.” She runs her bony fingers on the wall as they walk through the short hallway.

The Archmage gives a huff of a laugh. “This is the theater. Many a performance has been held here, though it’s a bit worse for wear. This would take the longest to restore…”

As casually as he can, Koltira uses Anarchaia’s camera to take a quick snap of her when she’s not looking.

Taveth eyes the camera. “That would be so handy.” He turns his attention to his book and begins sketching the opera hall.

Koltira chuckles and mumbles, “Most likely to get a hand cramp today.” He stretches an arm over Anarchaia’s head to point down at Taveth.

Anarchaia hears the _click_ and turns to Koltira to glare. She points at Taveth as well, while reaching for the camera again. “Stop that,” she grunts.

Khadgar pinches the bridge of his nose and refuses to look back. Light filters through the stained glass above and dust swirls in the beams of sun. “I almost miss being here during the theatre season…”

Taveth looks at the two. “What? What are we doing?”

Koltira smirks mischievously. “Playing Most Likely.”

“I don’t understand.” He walks forward to stand nearer to Khadgar. “It truly is marvelous. Perhaps one day you can open it to the public again.”

“That’s two shots when we get back,” Anarchaia says to Taveth with a smile, holding up two skeletal fingers.

Khadgar smiles down at Taveth. “Perhaps. Though I feel it’s not particularly my place to do so. I’m not the Guardian after all.” He stops at the railing at the far edge of the gap between the stage and the seating area. “Ana, there’s a pit.”

The mage perks and rushes to the edge. She smiles and blinks into the area beneath the front most part of the stage. She bustles over to the piano and opens the lid, then coughs when dust puffs into the air. She chuckles. “Most likely to catch an air borne, lung, bacterial infection?” She raises her hand.

“You can’t nominate yourself,” Koltira says, taking a seat on a bench nearby.

“I can so!” Anarchaia calls from the lower level.

Taveth looks up from his journal. “I still don’t understand.”

The death knight chuckles. “You say something most likely to happen to someone, and everyone else points at who they think it is.”

The elf’s brow furrows. He glances at Khadgar, Anarchaia, the pit, then back to Koltira. “So, you’d be most likely to be teleported back home by Khadgar for annoying him, right?”

Anarchaia pulls up her dress some to sit on the bench before the instrument. Her bare toes click against the pedals and a chord rings through the entire room as she presses the keys and grimaces. “Needs tuning.” She continues playing anyway, compensating notes for different keys to make up for the off tuning.

Khadgar rests a cheek on his knuckles as he leans on the dusty railing. He gives Koltira a tired smile. “You aren’t annoying me.” He chuckles. “Yet. We’ve just gotten here. There’s time.”

Taveth gives Koltira a look. “_Yet_.”

“Mostly likely to get bitch slapped.” The death knight points at Taveth.

Khadgar’s eyes flit to his student playing downstairs. “Most likely to not learn a single thing while we’re here.” He gives a wave when she looks up, then turns towards the men, resting his elbows on the railing. “So. You’re Kel’ori’s brother? I’m sure she’s said awful things about me.”

Koltira smirks and hides his chuckle as Khadgar joins in their game.

Taveth flips to a new page and feverishly sets to sketching the mage at the p. “I am. And yes, she has. I’m sure you’ve noticed, though, that she doesn’t exactly like getting her hands dirty. You should talk to Kalec about being stricter on his expectations. Also, I second the motion.” He points down at Anarchaia.

Koltira scoffs. “Most likely to be the _only_ one even paying attention to this tour.” He points at Khadgar.

“It’s a shame I’m the guide.” He walks over to watch Taveth draw, hands clasped behind his back. “How Kalec teaches is his own business. I merely grade the papers he has no insight on or time to look at.” He sighs and shakes his head. “She has the will and skill, but lacks the drive and the experience, sadly.” He glances at the girl downstairs and opens his mouth, inhales, then closes it again.

Taveth double takes looking at Khadar. His ears pink at the tips and he holds out the notebook for the Archmage to get a better look. “Most likely to become a very powerful Archmage,” he says low to the man.

Khadgar gives the man a sad smile. “Not at this rate.” He strides back to the railing and lifts a hand. The piano silences and the cords instead make a muted plucking noise. “While I always enjoy your playing, let’s make our way to the library.”

Anarchaia nods and teleports herself back upstairs. “If we come back I can tune it.” She blows some dust from a bench.

Taveth sets his pen in his book to keep his place. “Yes! The Library!”

Khadgar heads to the stairway. “It’ll be up in the higher spires. Just…watch your step.”

“Most likely to never come out,” Koltira says to Anarchaia, jerking a thumb in Taveth’s direction.

Anarchaia quickly places a palm over Koltira’s mouth and half-shushes half-chortles. “He doesn’t know you know,” she whispers. She blinks after a moment of thought. “He likes Master.”

Koltira cocks an eyebrow at the mage and pulls her hand down. “Of the library.” He takes her hand and guides her to follow Taveth, who is following Khadgar. “Honestly, it’s like you think I have no tact.”

Anarchaia gives him a warning glance as she’s dragged behind.


	3. Chapter 3

One-by-one the torches on the walls ignite as the party nears them. The two mages take turns repairing any damage they see. When they finally reach the top level, Anarchaia _oohs_ at the marble sculpture atop the stairs leading down into a dungeon-esque hallway. “No one told me this place was so artsy.”

“Actually, I have,” Khadgar says in a defeated tone. “Many times.” He lifts a candle that’s fallen from the chandelier above and it replaces itself within its slot.

“Most likely to not pay attention in class.” Koltira points at Anarchaia.

Without looking up from his notebook, Taveth also swings his arm around to point at the mage.

Anarchaia whirls around, a hand on her chest, and gasps. “I didn’t realize this was a performance assessment trip! I’ll have you know I pass all my tests with flying colors!”

“All but the one that matters most,” Khadgar says as he passes, messing her hair and leaving her to right her tresses again. He leads them through a damp corridor lined with stone. A wail echoes down from the upper floors, followed by others. “Banshees, I imagine.”

Taveth makes a face. “There were banshees guarding the Tidestone fragments. Ali actually offered me up to one. Said I needed to learn to defend myself.” He scoffs and shakes his head.

Koltira raises an eyebrow and looks the narrow man over. “I’m not surprised, but I also can’t imagine why she’d think you could fight back, even if you tried.”

Anarchaia furrows her brow at him. “At the risk of sounding rude, that’s terrible. Do you have any combat training at all? You could have been killed…”

“How is that rude? My cousin was always less than careful with me, why should now be any different? And no, I have no combat training. However, I can slip into places most with brawn cannot.” Taveth gives Koltira a sly look.

“Did she save you from it?” the death knight asks.

“No, Grimory did.”

“Most people don’t like listening to their family be scrutinized.” She turns when Khadgar hums a laugh at the sound of Grimory’s name. “Why is that funny?”

The man shrugs a shoulder. “Not funny, per se. I’m just amazed there’s evidence that he cares more for someone than himself.”

Anarchaia furrows her brow again. “I don’t get why everyone holds so much disdain for him. He’s really a nice guy…”

Taveth blushes. “He is. He just gives into his pleasures a lot more than he should.”

Koltira smirks and gives Anarchaia a look.

Anarchaia gives Koltira a sad smile and leans up to whisper in his ear. “The poor fool.”

Khadgar makes a face that borders between disgust and discomfort, his lower eyelids raising. “That’s an understatement.” He pushes open the heavy wooden door at the top of the steps and ushers the others through.

Taveth steps to the side and waits for the other two to go, giving them a small smile. “How does it feel being back here after so long?” he asks Khadgar.

He hesitates. “Alien,” he says in response. “I was here around a year ago, but it wasn’t this, ehm, infested.”

Anarchaia presses her shoulder against Taveth’s. “So. what else about Grim do you like?”

Taveth jumps in surprise and clears his throat. “Um, heh, I-I don’t know. A few things.” He eyes Koltira and says to her, “What else do _you_ like about him?”

She straightens and narrows her only visible eye. “Not much. Why do you ask?”

Taveth gives her a look. “You asked first.”

Koltira holds back a chuckle as he follows behind.

She purses her lips at Koltira then back to Taveth. “I did.” She grins. “So you answer first.”

Taveth’s ears pink at the tips. “He’s really kind, if you know how to read him right.” His mind drifts to the demon hunter’s reaction to being freed from Spinewing’s control. “He’s a lot more… I’m not sure fragile is the word, but it’s close… More than you’ve seen.”

Koltira laughs outright. “Oh, and you’ve seen it?”

The high elf begins to think of a lie, then changes his mind. “I have.”

Anarchaia lifts her eyebrows and swings around to walk backward in front of Taveth. “I hope you didn’t expect to say something like that without an explanation,” she says with a coy smile.

He raises an eyebrow as he stops to sketch the view over the balcony. “Of course I didn’t. That’s how conversations work. One makes a comment and the other provides a response, back and forth until the conversation is through.”

Anarchaia again narrows her eyes. “Been spending a lot of alone time with him, have you? You have gossip and I’m a female. It’s kind of a rule that you tell me.”

Khadgar rolls his eyes at the childish behavior and leaves the two there by the railing. He makes his way up a short ramp to another large wooden door and pulls it open to reveal a twisting and battered spire leading upward. The shrieks from the spirits grow louder as though they sense the group’s approach.

“I don’t have gossip, just a few things I picked up. Your master is leaving us.” He picks up his pace to catch up to the Archmage.

Koltira pulls Anarchaia to the side and lets Taveth get ahead before he leans closer to speak. “You’re probably going to have to get it out of him another way. He likes Grim, he’s not going to give it up easily.”

“It’s a shame Taveth’s not as easy as he, then.” She taps her chin and follows the other two at a reasonable distance. She smirks. “I could do to him what I did to you.” She sweeps her foot over the tattered edge of a carpet and the threads pull themselves back to together.

“Seduce me?” he says with a chuckle. “I mean, I don’t know. But if you really want to try, I won’t stop you.”

“Not seduce,” she mutters, arms folded. “Just…manipulate.” She pauses. “Does that make me a bad person?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You manipulated me?”

She frowns. “You don’t seem to see it that way. Why do you think I’ve apologized so many times? You wouldn’t have it…”

“That isn’t how I meant it…” He rubs his palms down his face. “Is it really worth the information he doesn’t actually want to share?”

Anarchaia gives him a playful smirk. “Isn’t that the best kind of information?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, then, if you insist.” He motions at the back of Taveth as the elf walks and writes at the same time.

She shakes her head. “I’d have to get him alone.” A loud shriek rings out as the two round a bend on the stairway. A banshee descends and blocks their path, the chains around her wrists and neck rattling. Another joins her; then another.

Khadgar grips his staff closely and glances over his shoulder at the three behind him. “I’d hate to steal your thunder. You seemed so eager last time, Deathweaver.”

Koltira rolls his eyes but draws his sword anyway. “I suppose an old man like you could use the help.”

Taveth backs away. The stone beneath his feet crumbles imperceptibly.

Khadgar lifts his thick eyebrows and takes a more relaxed stance. He motions to the quickly advancing banshees with his staff. “Help away, then.”

Anarchaia taps her fingers together worriedly and steps forward, only to be met with the end of Atiesh and stern blue eyes from her teacher.

“I’m sure he can handle it.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Koltira leaps toward the banshees. He parries once and comes back around to swing at her. His sword passes through her flimsy form and he purses his lips.

“Oh,” Taveth says, taking another step back as he fidgets, “r-right, I forgot. We learned Banshees are immune to physical dama—” The floor slips out from under his feet and he falls down into the darkness of the tower below.

Khadgar folds his arms and watches Koltira struggle, then jumps at the sound of crumbling stone and the sound of Taveth’s fading cry as he falls. He steps to follow but his apprentice pushes past him.

“Taveth!” She cries, nearly tripping over her dress. “You help Kolt,” she barks with a pointed finger as she runs. “Taveth, I’m coming!”

Koltira stares helplessly at the hole in the floor. “He better be okay,” he warns Khadgar. He uses all of his non-physical abilities against the first banshee. She shrivels into a ball of Shadow.

Khadgar jerks his head back in Koltira’s direction, a spark in his eyes. “Are you implying anything that happens to him is my responsibility? Do you think I wanted him to come? Or you, for that matter? He knew the risks when he requested to tag along.” He squares his shoulders. “Besides. Ana is more than capable of seeing to him.”

Koltira sneers. “You think I wanted to come? I’m only here because Ana practically begged. I know how you feel about me and frankly, I don’t care.” He takes out the second banshee. “I’ll see myself out after this.”

Khadgar inhales and narrows his eyes, then again folds his arms. “And how _do_ I feel about you?”

“You hate me because Ana spends a lot of time with me.” He focuses his attention on the banshee. Once vanquished, he sheaths Byfrost and looks Khadgar in the eye. “Maybe you just don’t like what happened with Alisbeth. But you don’t like me. And I know I’m not changing your mind.”

Khadgar tilts his head and blinks his narrowed eyes a couple times. “No. I don’t hate you. Whomever Ana chooses to keep within her company—literally or otherwise—is none of my concern. What _is_ my concern is teaching her to a point where I feel she can flourish on her own. Her failure in her studies as of recent times is what I hate. Not you. Not that blond buffoon. Not your ichor-thirsty wife. And the only person who holds blame in this is Ana herself.”

Koltira blinks and folds his arms. “Oh.” After a long pause he says, “Sorry I called you old. Didn’t realize that was such a hot-button.”

Khadgar sighs and runs a hand over his hair. “I _am_ old.” He glances at the piles of chains on the floor and pauses. “Well done. I’m impressed to see that you’re more than just your sword.”

Koltira chuckles. “Maybe just a little bit more.” He holds out his hand to the Archmage. “I suppose I can give Ana a few kicks in the ass for you.”

Khadgar gives an endearing smile and takes Koltira’s hand firmly in his own. “That’d be helpful. Just…don’t actually kick her.” He chuckles and sighs as he walks to the edge where Taveth had fallen and looks down. “I do hope he’s okay, though. Charming fellow, he is.”

“He is. Fragile, too. So, how did she talk you into letting him, come?”

“She didn’t,” Khadgar sighs. “His sister asked and…I feel like simply having Kalecgos restore his books wasn’t reward enough for giving me the Tidestone.”

“I heard about that trip. Not much, only that it was a success. I uhm, haven’t left Acherus since that day…until today, of course.” He looks down into the darkness. “Should we go find them?”

Khadgar shakes his head and leans against the wall. He folds his arms. “An unnecessary trip. I trust Ana.” He furrows his brow slightly. “Locked yourself away? What for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Koltira leans against a nearby wall. “They got back and my day with Diori was over. Illusion was broken. I’m not her father, or anyone’s, for that matter. And no matter how hard I try, I’m not a part of their family, either. Grimory made sure to remind me of that.” He lets out a long breath.

Khadgar frowns and gives a sympathetic smile. “That small blond girl? I can see the resemblance. Ana’s had some choice words to say about the situation. I’m…sorry you have to deal with it.”

“So, you got any kids? Besides Ana, of course.” He gives Khadgar a sly grin.

Color fills his cheeks and he clears his throat. “No, thankfully. I wouldn’t have time for children. Heh. And yes, she’s certainly handful enough.”

The death knight nods. “It’s bullshit, but I’m sure it’s good I never had my own… I let Diori have dessert before her meal.” He laughs, realizing it’s the most absurd secret to have been keeping.

Khadgar gives another chuckle. “Truly the worst. It’s a wonder they allow you to babysit at all. I should instate a law if some sort.”

~ * ~

Anarchaia grunts as her shoulder grinds into a splintered support beam when she passes it. Dust kicks up as she runs. Her fingers tighten around the hem of her dress as she holds it up in front of herself. “Please don’t be dead,” she whines as she flies down the stairs two at a time.


	4. Chapter 4

Taveth coughs into the dust on the floor, his head throbbing. A clicking echoes over him. He spins to see a spider flicking its mandibles at him. He doesn’t hesitate, reaching into his bag. His fingers curl around the dagger and Thal’kiel pops into the air beside Keeshokin.

<<What the fel was that about, you little rat! Touching Atiesh like that. You are mine, no inferior weapons will touch your hands. Do you hear me?>>

While Thal’kiel goes on his tangent, Keeshokin takes out the spider over the elf. <<Get the dogs, there’s more.>>

Taveth sits up and cringes at two spiders skittering their way.

The last spider falls to the floor, body ablaze in felfire. Thal’kiel returns to Taveth and gets in his face. <<Now, do we have an understanding?>>

The elf nods. <<I won’t touch it again, I swear.>> He flinches as the felguard lifts its axe threateningly.

Anarchaia’s bare toes scrape through the carpet of spiderwebs as she slows to a stop outside the archway to the lower floors. She stops as she hears voices and glances out from behind yet another broken beam. She grits her teeth. _Demons? They…don’t seem to be hurting him. I wonder if I can… _She hums in thought, then grins as she waves her hands about herself. In a flurry of violet smoke, her form grows into that of Grimory’s. She clears her throat and steps out from behind the beam. She opens her mouth to speak, then jumps and runs forward when she sees the felguard ready to strike. She grabs the demon by the arm and growls. “Don’t.”

The felguard smiles down at the image of Grimory. <<Can Spinewing come out to play? Still owes me.>>

“Grim! What are you doing here? How did you get here so fast?” He clambers to his feet in time for a hound to bite his ankle. “Ow! Bad! Go home, now. Go on.” The hound whines and turns around, then lopes off before vanishing into purple smoke, the other not far behind.

_Spinewing? Grim’s demon has a name?_ Anarchaia flinches and releases the felguard’s arm. “I…was upstairs. I heard the commotion. Heh.” Her slit pupils slide to Taveth’s as she turns. She gives a grin and sets a hand on a hip. “Wanted to make sure you were unharmed.”

“You know better than anyone I can take care of myself,” Taveth says, chuckling.

<<Oh, retched—augh!>> Thal’kiel sniffs harder. <<Do you smell that?>>

Keeshokin sniffs, then covers his face with a huge hand. <<What in the fel?>>

“What?” the elf asks, sniffing and smelling nothing.

<<It’s almost as foul as _you!_>> Thal’kiel growls. <<The bitter stench of something pathetic, but with the added putrescence of good magic.>>

_Uh oh._ Anarchaia inhales as well, then makes a show of coughing. “Smells like spider guts and dust to me. That old man is upstairs, though. He definitely fits that description.”

The demons turn to stare at Anarchaia, then at each other. Keeshokin grabs the image of Grimory by the throat and lifts her up off the floor. <<Since when do spider guts smell bad?>>

Thal’kiel zips over to her. <<Oh, it _is_ you. Who are you, besides some goody two shoes mage? Oh, your smell is _revolting_. Ugh, master please put me away. _Put me away!_ It smells so foul!>>

Taveth blinks. “Did you just call me master?”

<<Well, after Spinewing, you’re not as useless as we thought. Now put me away before I break your skull open!>> He slams against Taveth’s forehead.

The elf throws the dagger into the bag and dismisses Keeshokin. He turns to Anarchaia, then stares at his feet. “Ana…”

Anarchaia clears her throat as she’s released, then tenses at the sound of her name but does not let down the illusion or turn around to face him. “I’m sorry,” she says after a long moment of silence.

Taveth folds his arms over his chest. “Why? Why put on some illusion? Were you trying to trick me?”

Anarchaia chews on her lower lip and continues to refuse to turn around. “I…don’t know. I guess I just…” She sighs and turns, still using Grimory’s voice. “Wanted to know what you knew about him that I don’t.”

Taveth shakes his head. “Why does it matter to you? Trust me, it’s…horrible. You’ll probably rest easier not knowing.”

Anarchaia shrugs and gives a nervous grin with Grimory’s fangs. “I’m a nosy asshole?” She frowns. “I’ve witnessed the worst kind of atrocities this world has to offer. I’m sure it’s tolerable.”

“Not a word to anyone.” Taveth rubs his face and breathes out through his teeth. “He lost control. And when he did, he tried to kill me. Well, not him, Spinewing. He threw Ali around like a ragdoll and…I’m afraid he would have killed us all if I hadn’t… When he was himself again, I could see the fear in his eyes. Made me remember why I had strange dreams about him.” He hooks his arm into the fake Grimory’s arm and urges her to lead him out. His ears heat and his cheeks flush and he finds that he cannot look at even an image of the demon hunter.

Anarchaia’s frown deepens and she leads him back up the ramp to the banquet room. “I’ve…seen it before. I just didn’t know he had a name. He nearly killed me back in Suramar. If it hadn’t been for Oculeth and Thalyssra I’d have surely been a goner. Heh.” She gives him a sideways glance and smiles at his bashfulness. _Cute._

Taveth suddenly slips his arm away from Anarchaia’s. “Just…don’t let him lose control. Least, not without me around. A-and, can I ask you to…change back? Y-you’re making it difficult to talk to you.” The redness creeps up his neck. “Heh.”

“I’ll do my best. He doesn’t listen too much to me. Not anymore, anyway.” Anarchaia blinks. “Oh! Of course!” Her form ripples and shrinks as she returns to herself. “Sorry. I was enjoying being tall.” She leads him back up the ramp towards the door that leads to the balcony. “So, a warlock. Your minions are rather rude, from what I could understand.”

Taveth frowns. “I’m not really a warlock, I just kind of…found the skull. The demons don’t like me.” He gives the mage a smile. “Sorry I ruined your fun. I just…I can’t seem to look Grim in the eye anymore. Do you ever get that feeling? Like…someone knows what you’re thinking if you look into their eyes.”

The undead girl gives a nervous smile. “N-no. It wasn’t fun. It was rude. I’m sorry.” She sobers and turns away as the cool air outside washes over them. “I know exactly what you mean.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “If you ever need any sort of support, I’m here.” Her smile widens. “And maybe I could ask Meryl to teach you to command your demons better?”

The elf shakes his head. “No. I don’t want that. I don’t need help commanding them, they can’t disobey me anyway.”

“I know. I figured they’d harass you less if they respected you. Or you’d even like to learn new spells. But that’s obviously up to you.” She starts up the stairs and waves to the men at the top. “Safe and sound! Heh.”

Khadgar gives a weary smile and ushers them down a wide hallway. “No major injuries, even? That was quite a fall…”

Taveth shrugs. “I think spiderwebs broke my fall.”

“Oh, is that what that is in your hair?” Koltira asks, wiggling a finger at the other man.

Taveth flinches and flails, brushing at his hair as Koltira laughs.

Anarchaia punches Koltira on the arm and purses her lips. <<Don’t be mean.>>

Khadgar holds out his staff to stop the group as they approach another short staircase. Two large mechanical golems bookend the steps; their eyes light as the four approach. “Hm. That’s odd.”

“Odd?” Koltira echoes.

“These golems. They’re meant to keep intruders out.” A whirring noise sounds as the machines step forward. “Which they apparently see us as.” He glances over his shoulder at the mage and death knight. “I don’t think I could bring myself to destroy such beautiful work. Would you mind?”

Anarchaia sighs and steps forward, palms filling with fire. “I’d rather not, either, but yes. Okay.”

Koltira shrugs and withdraws Byfrost. “I don’t care one way or the other, so long as it’s not impervious to physical damage.” He gives Taveth a look.

The high elf shrinks behind his journal, where he’s furiously sketching out a golem. “I don’t know! I’m sorry about the banshees, okay?”

Anarchaia hurls a beam of flame at the golems nearest her, then frowns and hesitates when the fire merely licks the metal and the machine continues to advance. She instead tries ice, but the spears simply shatter. She groans and dodges as the golem brings down a fist like a hammer. The stone floor shudders at the impact.

Koltira jumps in front of Anarchaia like a shield. He swings Byfrost around a severs the fist on the ground from the arm it’s attached to.

The golem straightens and glares down at the death knight. Its hand floats up and reconnects to the arm, the glowing light between them re-illuminating.

“That’s worrisome,” Anarchaia mumbles and grabs Koltira’s hand to pull him away and around when the mechanism brings down another fist. She chews on the inside of her lips for a moment. “Do you think it’s electricity?” She bends down to freeze the golem’s feet to the floor but it breaks free with ease as it slowly turns.

Taveth pauses in his thoughts, the end of his pen tapping against his lower lip. “I think it might be magnetism, possibly some electricity magic as well.”

“Is that a long version of a yes?” Koltira growls.

“Heh. Yes.” He clears his throat and looks between the mages. “I’ve never studied electro-magic before. I’m really of no use, now.”

Khadgar gives Taveth a sideways glance, silver eyebrows raised. “You’re actually very close despite your lack of research,” he says with a grin.

Anarchaia dodges another swing of a giant fist; the rush of the blow causes her hair to swirl as she ducks. “Well what is it, then?” she hisses at her teacher from between the golem’s legs.

“This would be far less impressive if I told you.”

The smaller mage scoffs and fires ice shards into the spaces between its pieces while she mutters.

Taveth smiles shyly. “Oh.” He jumps backward as the golem swings at them again. “Ali would’ve climbed up that thing and cut its head off by now.”

Koltira scowls. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not an adequate substitute.”

“Th-that’s not what I—”

Koltira runs around the side of one golem, using a table to boost himself, then springs from the wall. He spins in the air and brings the top edge of Byfrost down on the area between the golem’s shoulders and head.

The golem makes a whirring sound as its head pops off and lands on the floor with a _clank!_. It stirs for a moment before blindly whipping its arms around in a frenzy, beeping loudly and calling warning signals.

Anarchaia can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity, but is immediately humbled when an arm flies over her head. She looks up as she ducks and notices a large, pulsating orb within the unit’s chest plate. With a raised hand, she casts a burst of flame at the vulnerable spot but the golem’s erratic movement causes her to miss.

“There’s a core!” she shouts.

Koltira, still clinging to the armor, jams his sword down through the neck. The core sparks and flickers, but remains lit.

Taveth shrinks back a few steps and whispers quickly, sending a curse toward the core. Sensing the fight, an imp pops into existence beside the elf and throws a fireball. He grabs it and shoves it into his bag, where it hisses and spits vile insults before giving up and vanishing.

The blackened core’s light dims, then dies and the golem leans back—dropping Koltira from atop it—and deactivates.

Anarchaia readies another attack, then stops and straightens when the golem creaks to a halt. She runs to throw her arms around Koltira’s neck. “That was awesome!”

Khadgar turns his head ever so slightly at the commotion behind him but otherwise strides forward. “Yes, well done. Let’s stay out of range of the second, though, shall we?” He makes his way up the stairs on the opposite side of the other machine.

Koltira cocks an eye at the golem, then at Anarchaia. “I didn’t kill it.”

“Nice job!” Taveth pats the death knight on the shoulder.

“But…I didn’t kill it. I weakened it, but—”

“So it just took a second to die, who cares? Come on. Best not to fall behind.” He jogs up the steps after Khadgar, chewing nervously at his bottom lip.

Anarchaia blinks but refuses to let go. She inhales as the other two men ascend the steps, then shrugs and bounces. “_That was awesome!_”

Koltira presses a needy kiss to her lips, relishing in the feeling he’d missed for a week. “We make a good team. Thanks for the help.”

Anarchaia half swoons and gives a drunken smile, finding herself suddenly not wanting to let go. “I didn’t do anything,” she says as she hangs from his neck.

Khadgar stops at the far end of a circular room with a large statue in the center. Light filters in from more stained glass above and eyes glow in the doorway opposite of him. He grumbles and turns to Taveth as he nears. “You want to take care of this one?” he asks with a coy grin.

Taveth shrinks and grips the strap of his satchel. “I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about. Heh.” He reaches into his bag. “I’ll j-just do what I’m good at and sketch it.” His eyes bug behind his spectacles as his hand rifles around in the main pocket. He tips the bag on end; a single pen falls to the floor, ink splattering from the top onto the carpet.

Khadgar furrows his brow in confusion. “You seem to have misplaced your materials. Perhaps when you fell?” He glances down the stairs at the other two and clears his throat. “Time is a factor,” he calls.

Anarchaia scowls at the sound of his voice and straightens. “Yeah, yeah. We’re coming.”

“No, no, it was here. It was all _right here!_” Taveth back tracks, his eyes on the floor. He bumps into Koltira, barely acknowledging the death knight exists.

“Everything all right there, Tav?”

The elf doesn’t respond as he scans the floor.

Anarchaia turns and frowns. “Did you lose something? Do you need help?”

Khadgar bites back a sigh and leans on his staff. “Perhaps we should backtrack. I’d rather he not wander off alone in here.”

Taveth straightens and motions with his hands as though reliving the moments before where he’d been sketching in his book. He points at the golem, then at Koltira, then grips his chin to think. His eyes bug larger and he grips his pack. “_Little rat!_” His eyes flash dark purple for just a second.

Koltira blinks, then narrows his eyes. He makes to comment, but instead shakes his head, assuming he’d imagined the flick of eye color change. “So, do we need to go back to the basement?”

Anarchaia blinks as well and tilts her head. “A rat took your books?”

Khadgar purses his lips as he resists a laugh. “We could split up to search if you’d like.”

Taveth purses his lips and backs away from the others. “Excuse me. I-I…will be right back.” Taveth turns and rushes away for some privacy.

Once down the hall he grabs his dagger.

<<_Gooooo awaaaaaaayy_,>> Thal’kiel growls.

“Not until you give my things back.” Taveth points the dagger at the skull.

<<I didn’t take anything! What are you talking about?>> The skull spins around him and shoves him forward. <<You’re getting delirious. Have you been poisoned?>> He gasps excitedly. <<Are you going to _die?_>>

“I’m not dying—”

<<Damn.>>

“—and you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He puts his fingers into the empty eye sockets and forces the skull to look at him. “Give my things back or I’ll bring the mages in here and never put the dagger away.”

Koltira looks between the other two, an eyebrow cocked as his ear twitches. “And now he’s mumbling to himself. This is good.”

Anarchaia catches the twitchy ear and bites her lip as she grins. “I think he’s just thinking out loud.” She turns to continue their trek but stops at the sight of the third golem. She groans. “Do we have to?”

Khadgar tears himself away from eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation down the hall. He gives his student an exasperated look. “Lift your palm, Ana,” he sighs. “Yes, like that. Good. Now, picture the core inside—it runs on mana, just like you. Imagine it in your hand. Its power, its shape, its energy.”

The girl hesitates as she struggles with the instructions. “Okay…”

“Now destroy it.” He clenches his fist.

Anarchaia mimics the action and the golem jerks and sparks. It whirs as it stomps forward, eyes red and angry and limbs twitching from the damage. Khadgar gives an understanding smile and follows his own instructions, destroying the core inside with a tight fist. The machine stops and slowly falls limp piece-by-piece.

“Close enough for a first try.” He pats her shoulder.

Anarchaia folds her arms and frowns, saying nothing.

Koltira wraps her in a hug from behind. “Hey, you pissed it off. That means you did _something_ to it.”

Anarchaia gives a grunt to signify that she’d heard him but otherwise continues to simply pout.

<<Fine, _FINE! Don’t_ call those _things_ in here. The dog will fetch it.>> Thal’kiel grumps.

Taveth summons a felhound and, as promised, the books are in its mouth; the rest of the items are clutched tightly in the arms of an imp. They drop his items on the floor, bite his leg and throw a fireball at his face, then disappear.

<<Now, if you don’t mind,>> Thal’kiel says.

Taveth puts the dagger away and shoves his things into his bag, except the books. He returns to the others as he gasps and whines over the teeth marks and does his best to wipe away the sticky slobber from the covers.

Khadgar turns and lifts a brow. “Find your things?”

Taveth grumbles a quick ‘yes’ to Khadgar. He transfers his books to the other hand and groans as a string of saliva runs from the stack to his palm. “Why me?”

Koltira eyes the books. “Did something…try to eat them?” He offers the end of his cloak to help wipe at the books.

In the throes of her irritation, Anarchaia turns to Taveth and narrows her empty eye. <<Why not just tell them?>> she mumbles in broken Demonic.

Khadgar glances at his student with mild interest. “Where did you learn that?”

“Grim,” she says with a dismissive air.

Taveth physically flinches and shrinks away from the mage.

Koltira raises an eyebrow at her. “Verbally abusing the poor guy?”

“No, just telling him to be more careful with his stuff,” she lies, turning and heading for the doorway.

The party comes to a huge, long room lined with buttresses and moldings. A gigantic golem paces the length of it, its footsteps making the carpeted floor shake.

Anarchaia reverses back into the circular room with the statue. “Big robot.”

Taveth sidles up to Anarchaia. “Sorry. I’m just not… I don’t want them to think less of me.”

Koltira cocks an eyebrow at him. _Poor guy._ “I won’t think any less of you over who you like, Tav.”

Taveth swerves to the other side of Anarchaia as though he can hide behind her shorter stature. “Wh-what?”

Anarchaia jerks her head to look up at Koltira incredulously, the light in her socket flickering. “H-he means friends.” She quickly turns to look at Taveth again. “Koltira doesn’t like Grim. He thinks you mean he’ll think less of you for being friends with him. Heh.”

Khadgar pushes past the group while ignoring their childish drama. He stops as he watches the giant pace. “The Custodian,” he mumbles under his breath and scratches at a cheek. “I’d almost forgotten. Hm.” He takes a cautious step forward, Atiesh secured in a tight fist.

“Heh. Yeah. R-right.” He stares at his feet. <<I have too many secrets, don’t I?>> he asks in Demonic.

Koltira sighs and meets Khadgar. “You look lonely…and concerned.” He eyes the giant construct. “What’s _that?_”

Khadgar sighs. “The Menagerie Custodian. Meant to keep things tidy and running smoothly…and to keep intruders at bay.” He hesitates. “It will probably attack us if the behavior of the lesser golems holds any promise.”

Koltira frowns and observes the Custodian, pacing back and forth, the lights glinting from its white shell. “It’s a beautiful creation, I’d hate to have to deactivate it.”

She picks up enough words to piece together the context. <<You’re allowed as many secrets as pleases you,>> she attempts with a smile and a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Sorry I snapped at you. Heh.”

Taveth smiles. “Maybe you’re right, though. I can’t hide Thal’kiel forever. As for Grim…”

Anarchaia shrugs and squeezes his shoulder. “I just don’t know why you’d want to hide something like that. It’s true for anything, really. If people don’t like you for you, then they’re not worth your time.”

“Heh. You’re a lot better at this friends thing than I am.” Taveth gives her a shy half smile.

Khadgar taps his chin and glances into the doorway at the other two. “_You_ won’t have to.”

Koltira follows Khadgar’s gaze. He sets his teeth to his lips and gives a shrill whistle to get the others’ attention.

Anarchaia returns the grin and opens her mouth to respond, but instead flinches at the sound of a whistle. After a quick pat on Taveth’s shoulder, she joins the other men in the hall. “So, what’s the plan? Just sneak past?”

“No. You’re going to deactivate it. Alone.” Khadgar gives her an encouraging smile.

The girl’s face falls. “You’re joking.”

“Hm-mmm.”

She bristles. “I couldn’t even stop a small one!”

“You only tried once,” the Archmage responds with a lowered brow and a smirk.

Taveth pats Anarchaia’s shoulder. “I believe in you.”

Koltira chuckles. “Most likely to successfully deactivate that giant son of a bitch.” He points at Anarchaia and Taveth follows suit.


	5. Chapter 5

Anarchaia turns and, with a pout, swats their fingers down. She purses her lips at her teacher before squaring her shoulders toward the giant, stomping mechanism. Inhaling long and slowly, she furrows her brow and lifts a hand—skeletal fingers bent as though cradling an object in her palm. The air around her bare feet swirls. The hem of her dress flutters.

The Custodian stops in its tracks and turns, eyes bright with alarm and warning. It stomps forward. “The Menagerie is for—_EXTERMINATE!_” it screeches in a mechanical stutter. Anarchaia’s shoulders go rigid and her eyes wide as it nears and the floor rumbles. Her terror drowns out the encouragement of Khadgar beside her and she gives a whimper before turning away and clenching her fist with as much purpose as she can muster.

The Custodian slows to a stop, jerking and twitching as smoke billows out from between its pieces. The eyes dim and extinguish. Anarchaia waits for a moment before turning to look. She lowers her hand with awe in her face. “Oh.”

Khadgar sets a hand on her shoulder and gives her a small shake. “I told you.” He ventures between the construct’s legs and down the hallway.

Taveth doesn’t hesitate, following behind the human—giving the construct a wide berth as though at any moment it will topple over onto him.

Koltira takes Anarchaia by the hand and pulls her along to follow the others. “I’m not going to lie, I wasn’t actually sure you could do it.” He gives her a charming smirk, hoping to blunt the words.

The Archmage stops as he notices the massive portal taking up the entirety of the archway. He hums in anticipation but continues forward. _Something’s definitely amiss._ He motions for Taveth and the others to go through first. “Not much further to the library.”

Anarchaia’s lips twitch into a smile. “I didn’t, either. Heh.” She looks up into the golem’s eyes as she passes. Something within the helm sparks and she jumps. Running forward to pull Koltira instead, she pushes the others forward as well. “Okay! Time is of the essence! We’re not getting any younger!”

Koltira allows Anarchaia to drag him to the portal. On their way through, he grabs Taveth and yanks him along as well. On the other side, the high elf trips over the death knight and tumbles into the mage.

Anarchaia’s foot tangles in Taveth’s and she falls forward with a quiet _oof!_ She turns and attempts to sit up while simultaneously adjusting her skirts, then laughs at the mishap. “I suppose this has been a nice _trip_ so far.”

Khadgar turns at a whirring noise when the others are safely through the portal. He furrows his brow and shakes his head before following them through with a sigh.

Koltira picks Taveth up by the scruff of his shirt and sets him on his feet. “How many left feet do you have?” he asks, chuckling as he holds out his other hand for the mage.

“One, like everyone else. Why do you ask?” Taveth brushes himself off and rights his spectacles.

Koltira gives Anarchaia a look. “Never mind.”

Anarchaia bites her lip to stifle a chuckle and takes the help getting up. She straightens her dress and inhales to speak to her teacher as he joins them, but her smile falls at the look of horror in his eyes. She follows Khadgar’s gaze to look out the upside-down doorway into the next room. Demons swarm the skies and the space around the upturned pathways seems to have no end. Darkness swirls around the void below and imps throwing balls of green fire fill the space above.

“The Legion? Here?”

“The power of this place has always drawn them. I…didn’t expect it to be like this.” Khadgar runs a palm over his mouth and steps forward into the doorway. “The definition of ‘not good’.”

“Welp, all hands on deck, as it were.” Koltira withdraws his sword and readies for whatever may come.

Taveth scuffs the toe of his boot on the carpet. Face turned down, he eyes Anarchaia through his eyelashes. After a moment he looks away and clears his throat. “I suppose _this_ hand should stay behind…” He busies himself with sketching the upside-down room; he scrawls quick descriptions of the scene on the adjacent page.

“Not if you want to see the library,” the undead says quietly with a grin. She jumps over the threshold. Anarchaia throws a bolt of fire at one of the demons above and it flies off screaming. She freezes another and it falls into the swirling void below.

An Inquisitor floats forward on the platform ahead and a beam of violet energy slices past her to obliterate the being.

She grins over her shoulder at her teacher, then motions for Koltira to follow. “You can have the next one.”

Koltira chuckles as he steps out. “I’ll just stay back here and guard our resident book worm.” He taps the tip of Taveth’s ear to catch his attention.

The high elf smiles shyly. “Heh. I suppose I do need the protection.”

She shrugs. “Have it your way.”

An imp above lobs a ball of corrosive flames and ooze at the group and she freezes it with a wave of her hand; it crashes against the bridge and the pieces fall into the space below. With the demons dispatched, Anarchaia makes her way to the edge of the only available bridge and peers down.

“Is it always like this?” She pushes against an upside-down chandelier and it swings back and forth.

“No,” Khadgar says, ushering the other men onward. “Stay in front of me until you’re on the other side.”

“Come on.” Koltira pushes Taveth between Anarchaia and himself.

Taveth whines. “I don’t need to be man-handled, you know.”

<<Don’t you enjoy it though?>> Anarchaia says over her shoulder in her broken Demonic.

She hops up onto the ledge the leads down onto the ceiling of another room and wobbles before gaining her balance again. A felguard sits on the other side, examining his blade as the tiles below him burst with flames in alternating patterns.

“Tav, how do you say _Oi cunt!_ in Eredun?”

Khadgar scowls from the back of the group. “Language.”

“Sorry. Heh.” She lowers her voice. “But seriously.”

Taveth adjusts his spectacles and fidgets. “They don’t really have that word in their own tongue. But, I mean, if you really want to insult him, try _Cas oD balkagan._”

Anarchaia jumps down from the ledge and onto the floor. Hands cupped around her lips, she calls to the felguard the words she’d been given. The demon perks and scowls before yelling back something she cannot understand. He brings his axe down and a torrent of fire shoots across the floor with great speed. The mage blinks out of its path and runs forward with handfuls of flames. She flinches, however, when Khadgar calls a single word from begind her.

“_Arcane!_”

With a growl she sidesteps a pillar of fire from the tiles below and holds out a hand to push the demon violently into the far wall with magic. The felguard recovers quickly and dashes forward. He swings his axe around and she blinks away, but he anticipates this and turns around to slash at her there. She leans away but the blade slices across her chest in a nearly perfect horizontal line. Ichor splashes forth but the cut is not deep enough to stagger her. The felguard swings at her again and she manages to stop his arm with more arcane energy. He grunts and drops his weapon, then is met with purple magic to the face. Blinded, he stumbles backward toward the doorway.

Koltira jumps down beside the felguard and slashes across his large torso; guts tumble from the demon’s stomach, splashing blood across the death knight’s boots. It falls to its knees, swinging out in a dying attempt to injure Koltira, but it misses and crashes forward, the pool of blood beneath it spreading across the tile floor.

Taveth hops down; to his embarrassment, Koltira catches him and sets him on his feet away from the corpse. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He smirks at Anarchaia. “Aren’t you glad she softened him up for you?”

The girl flushes and turns away with an embarrassed titter. “Honestly, you should stop flattering me. Heh.” She wipes ichor from her chest with her palm and bites the inside of her lip at the pain.

Khadgar lands gently on his feet beside the corpse and skirts around the growing pool of blood. He sets a hand on Anarchaia’s shoulder as he passes and gives a brief smile before continuing toward the doorway across from them. “You did well.”

Her blush deepens and she looks at her feet. “What did I just say?”

As Koltira follows Khadgar, Taveth turns his back on the others. He whispers into his palms, conjuring a yellow stone. He turns and slips it into Anarchaia’s hands. “You crush it and breathe in the dust,” he says. “It’ll last a couple more uses before the crystals are gone, though.” He gives her a kind smile and pats her shoulder.

Anarchaia hesitates as she looks at the object. “That sounds…demonic. Heh. I-I’ll pass. Thank you, though.”

Taveth frowns and takes the object back. “I was…just trying to help.” He motions at her chest, then stares at his feet. With a sigh, he drops the stone to the floor and follows behind the other men.

Khadgar hoists himself up into the upside-down doorway. He brushes himself off and leans down a hand for Koltira. “Unless the actual layout of the rooms has changed as well, it isn’t much further.” He gives the elves a sympathetic smile. “Promise.”

Koltira chuckles. “I’ve been holed up in a floating ziggurat for a week. I’m fine with a little adventure.” He turns, looking past the sullen high elf, to gesture for Anarchaia to hurry up.

Anarchaia inhales quickly. “Nono! I didn’t mean—!” She grits her teeth and scoops up the item again. “I just…don’t dabble with that kind of stuff. It’s dangerous and you’re brave for doing so.” She sends the stone away in a whirl of sparkles and smiles. “But I’d like to keep it nonetheless.” She catches Koltira’s eye and gives Taveth’s shoulder a squeeze before disappearing and reappearing upon the ledge. She holds out a hand for Taveth.

Taveth hesitantly accepts the help up, averting his gaze to hide his emotions.

Khadgar runs his palm over the brick wall as he walks. The hallway twists the further he progresses; the sconces and paintings seemingly unaffected by the laws of physics. When he reaches the end, the doorway is in the correct position and he steps inside the circular room surrounded by bookshelves, opalescent torches, and a dais bookended by two white banisters.

Anarchaia inwardly cringes at the silence and jogs to meet her teacher as inconspicuously as possible. “Is this the library?” she asks, gently pressing a shoulder to Koltira’s as her voice echoes in the high ceiling above.

“No,” Khadgar sighs. “This is—_was_—Medivh’s solar.” He waves a hand and the torches light with cyan flames. He purses his lips and scans the books with his eyes, then turns and makes his way to the door on the adjacent wall without another word.

Anarchaia frowns and follows quickly. She grabs his cloak and tugs until he gives her a sideways glance.

“I’ll be fine,” he says quietly but does not smile. He turns to Taveth. “I’d appreciate it if these tomes were left untouched. The library is in the next room, however.”

Taveth jumps and withdraws his hand from the tome he was about to pick up. He shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks nervously at the dust on the floor. “Heh. Right. No problem. T-to the library, then.”

Khadgar regards Taveth with grateful smile and pushes open the twin doors to the next corridor. Upon stepping in, however, he stops. Instead of a hallway as he’d remembered, another circular room awaits them. Instead of a floor is a working vortex that seems to fall for eons. Chairs, books, and candles float in the swirling funnel as though frozen in time.

“This gets more worrisome by the minute,” he mutters and sighs, then steps down into the vortex.

“_Master!_” Anarchaia jumps and reaches for him but does not follow, afraid of the consequences.

Koltira grips the mage urgently, as though she herself was about to jump into the vortex. “Wh-what is this?”

Taveth leans over just a little to peer down. “It looks like…a drain filled with items from Karazhan? I’ve never seen anything like this before. Fascinating.” He leans closer for a better look, then teeters dangerously toward the pull of the swirls.

After a moment of thought, Anarchaia pulls free from Koltira’s grasp. “I have to follow,” she simply says and steps over the threshold without looking back.

She immediately pushes her dress down as it flutters up. The swirling vortex around her fades in and out and her hair swirls as though caught in a tide instead of a rush of upward-gusting wind. The area beyond the cyclone melts from brick wall to stars and galaxies to more brick and then a giant window—clouds and birds visible beyond. She finally comes to a gentle land on a surface seemingly made of leather and ink. Upon further inspection she sees it’s a book cover.

“Queer,” she whispers, then looks up and nearly stumbles. Pillars the size of titans and bookshelves spanning miles line the walls. “I-is this the library?!”

“Ana!” Koltira shouts, scrambling to grab her. “_Dammit!_ Come on.” He grabs Taveth by the neck of his shirt and drags him into the vortex with him.

“But I don—” Taveth gasps and hurriedly sketches small pictures across two pages of the many things he sees on his slow decent. He finishes the lines of the vortex at the center of his sketches as his feet land on the book. He blinks and breathes in. “This is most definitely a library. I’d know the smell any—” He looks up, his jaw drops and his mouth gapes wide at the sheer size of the books. “A-… Are we small, or are these books huge?”

“We are, indeed, small,” comes Khadgar’s voice from the floor. He’s circled by the corpses of giant spiders and rats. “Be careful on your way down. The floor seems to be less forgiving than the books. Heh.” He tenses his leg to check the damage while at the same time keeping the pain concealed. “Ana, help everyone down.”

The undead girl nods and throws a slow fall spell on the men, then quickly steps off the stack of books before they can—again pushing her dress down in a hurry before it can flutter up, though her cheeks turn a faint pink anyway. “Inconvenient.”

Koltira shoves the hesitating high elf off the book. Taveth flails as he falls, then closes his eyes and curls into himself, crouching as though it will help with the fear. Koltira, on the other hand, backs away from the edge and eyes the adjacent stacks of books. He strides across the sloping book ramp, then hops down from the stack onto a chair, then lowers himself to another stack of books and finally to the floor. He dusts himself off, then gives Taveth a sly smile as the latter glares angrily at the death knight.

“So,” Koltira says as he reaches the others, “where to?”

Khadgar scratches at his cheek and gives a glance around. “I’m…not sure, actually. I wasn’t expecting this.” He shrugs and grins. “Though I suppose one doesn’t have many expectations when jumping into a random wormhole, no?”

Anarchaia looks around as well, then motions to a rather large mana wyrm in the distance. Beams of violet electricity pulse from its shimmering body every so often. “He looks important.”

Taveth slips his book into his bag and notes the heat on the back of his hand from the dagger in the next pocket. He silently slips behind a stack of books and pulls the blade out, giving an involuntary shudder as his fingers brush the vertebrae along the top of the handle.

“What?” he hisses on a breath.

<<There is a powerful energy nearby. You should collect it and we can use it to twist the world to our—>>

Taveth slips the dagger into the pocket and rolls his eyes. “Let’s not,” he mumbles. He steps back into the spot where he’d previously been. “We should probably kill that thing.”

Koltira lifts an eyebrow at the other man. “_We?_”

“Right. Heh. B-but it needs to die. Probably.”

Anarchaia steps forward, hands engulfed in flame as per her norm, but she stops and turns at a hand on her shoulder. She gives Khadgar a quizzical head tilt.

“Frost this time, if you’d humor me.” He smiles as though knowing the reaction he’ll receive.

The flames extinguish and she growls, fists clenched. “_Frost?_ I can’t do much beyond blizzards and spears of ice, you now that. And I certainly can’t freeze it to the ground—it _floats!_”

The Archmage’s smile dims some and he lifts his eyebrows.

She scoffs and turns to trudge off. “Fine,” she spits, hands now emitting vapors instead of cinders.

Koltira withdraws Byfrost and follows close behind the mage. Taveth shuffles along after, keeping his head down.

“I’m sure these two won’t let anything happen to you if you fail, heh.” He ducks his head as Koltira shoots him a look.

The mana wyrm turns as the three approach, then lets out a shrill shriek. It swims forward and releases bolts of purple electricity at them.

Anarchaia shuffles out of the way as quickly as possible and throws up a barrier of reflective ice around herself. She throws some small shards of frost at it but it does little besides anger the monster and cause it to turn its attention on her. It lunges forward, jaws open.

Koltira steps in front of the creature to protect Anarchaia, his sword raised. “Hey, ugly, over here!” Once he has the attention of the mana wyrm, he moves to the side to keep it from hitting any of the others.

Taveth presses sideways against a pole to the railing. He angles himself, trying to hide as much of his body from any danger.

The beast shrieks again and snaps at Koltira, but a spike of ice grows between its open jaws and blood sprays as it attempts to close them. It senses the origin of the magic and hurls more lightning at the mage, but her barrier of frost protects her. It turns and slashes at the group with its tail.

Koltira yanks the wyrm’s attention back to himself.

Taveth yelps as a purple twister forms behind him and launches a ball of lightning at him.

“_Tav! Run!_” Koltira shouts, doing what he can to keep the monster’s attention.

<<Or assist,>> Anarchaia encourages with a smile and also dodges a wandering ball.

She places her hands on the ground; frost creeps along the floor until below the mana wyrm, where a massive spike of ice shoots up and through its tail. It cries out and trashes. Violet orbs surround the group and slowly creep toward the beast.

Taveth drops to his knees as one slams into his back. “I don’t feel so well…” He collapses forward, unconscious.

“Dammit!” Koltra shouts. He shoves his sword up through the roof of the creature’s mouth. It shrieks and thrashes in the air, angered.

Anarchaia jumps in surprise as Taveth hits the floor and makes to run to his side, but the beast’s tail rips free of her spike—shredding it in two—and strikes her hard in the front, sending her skidding back along the tiles.

Khadgar grits his teeth. He lifts a hand and pulls Taveth’s limp body to himself. He grimaces at the pain in his leg caused by the extra weight on his arms.

Koltira slices down the beast’s belly. It screams in ear-piercing pitch. Blood seeps from the wound into a puddle on the floor. “Is he okay?” he shouts to Khadgar.

The Archmage gives the man a once over and smiles some. “He’s breathing. No visible damage.”

Anarchaia scrambles to her feet as blood pools around her. She wrings the liquid from the hem of her dress. “_Ech._” The mana wyrm rears up as though to attack once more but instead slowly sinks to the floor and whines before going limp.

The death knight steps to go to Anarchaia, but the world shifts as the four rapidly expand in size. The death knight braces himself against the wall and shakes his head. “Well, that is just…sickening. I’d like to not do that again. Ever.” He realizes that now the mage is less than an arm’s length away. He reaches out and sets a hand on her shoulder.

Khadgar hisses in pain as the muscles in his injured leg stretch. He stumbles to the side and braces his shoulder against a bookshelf; a loose tome shakes free and bounces off his crown. He flinches, purses his lips, and sighs. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m rather tired of this magic business.”

Anarchaia turns to smile and sets a bloody hand atop Koltira’s. She then glances over at the unconscious Taveth. “How unfortunate that he was most excited for the library, and now that we’re here…heh. Can we do anything for him?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Khadgar responds. He makes his way down the one step to the center area guarded by a short banister and does his best to ignore the pain. He sets the unconscious elf in a large armchair. “But I’m willing to bet there’s a book here about it.”

Koltira eyes the unconscious elf. “Could slap him… Douse him in cold water…” He slaps Taveth’s cheek hard enough to make his head snap to the side. The high elf remains still. Koltira looks at Anarchaia and shrugs. “Your turn.”

Anarchaia flinches and reflexively grabs Koltira’s arm regardless of whether or not he plans to strike Taveth again. “I-I think he just needs rest! Whatever hit him must have done some damage.” She sighs but doesn’t release him. “Perhaps we should just wait.”

Khadgar mulls it over for a moment, then conjures a globule of water above the elf’s head. It falls over Taveth’s face with a gentle splash.

Anarchaia scoffs and glares at him. “_Master!_”

Taveth grumbles and curls up. “C-cold! Why does my face hurt? I’m going back to bed.” He rolls onto his side and squints his eyes closed.

“Tav, we’re in the library!” Koltira says, shaking him.

Taveth groans and weakly bats at the air to get the death knight away.

Anarchaia opens her mouth to reprimand Taveth, then lifts her brows in realization. She holds out a palm and the yellow crystal she’d been gifted with fills it. With her hard fingers she crushes it as best she can and kneels to hold the dust beneath his nose.

The dust rises and enters Taveth’s airways as he breaths in. His eyes snap open and he sits upright. “Did you say we’re in the library?”


	6. Chapter 6

Alisbeth hums absently as she lathers her hair. She smiles and begins dancing along the wet floor. The ball of her right foot finds the bar of soap she’d left abandoned after it dropped. It slides from beneath her; she crashes to the floor with a yelp, her head hitting against the floor hard enough to make an audible _crack!_ Her eyes close and she falls unconscious.

Hours later the death knight opens her eyes and grits her teeth at the pain in her throbbing skull. She slowly shoves herself to her feet and groans as she turns off the water. Not seeing a clean change of clothes in the small space, she wraps herself in a fluffy beige towel and exits the shower room to find a grumpy dwarf tapping an impatient foot against the floorboards.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. Her head swims as she stumbles down the hallway, using one hand on the wall to steady herself. “This isn’t…” She finds the stairs and descends carefully. She stops and squints at the tavern below, then frowns as confusion overtakes her.

“Ali,” the man behind the bar says in a warning voice, “you know better than to come down here like that.”

“Sorry,” she says on a sigh. “I can’t…find my room. This isn’t the inn I was at.”

The man chuckles and sets a glass of dalapeño smoothie with a candy cane hooked over the side in front of her. “Oh?” He feigns interest. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“Southshore.” She sneers at the glass and pushes it away from herself.

“Where’s Ana? I’ll see if I can contact her for you.”

Alisbeth blinks. “Who?”

“Alibaba, Anaconda, Ashran, whatever you want to call her today. The mage. Where is she?”

Alisbeth rubs at her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Arille narrows a blue eye at her. “Have you hit your head or something of the sort?” he grumbles as he polishes a mug.

Alisbeth rubs a spot on the back of her head and grimaces. “I…don’t know.” She pulls the towel tighter around herself and shrinks in her seat, feeling lost and vulnerable in only a towel.

Arille sighs and sets down the mug. “Let me speculate. You don’t remember where your room is, either.” His eye suddenly catches a familiar grease-smeared face as a goblin enters. “Gildwynn!” he barks, causing the man to stop and pull back his large green ears.

“Arille…?” he replies cautiously as though surprised anyone is happy to see him.

“You always know where Anarchaia is.”

The goblin bristles. “That’s not true… But she’s in Karazhan with the Archmage and her boyfriend…_s_.”

“Oh. Hm. Alisbeth here seems to be a bit…confused. Perhaps you could help her out.”

Gildwynn glances up at the death knight, suddenly aware that they’d never really met. “I…suppose.”

Alisbeth reaches out a tentative hand. “I’ve never met one of your kind face to face. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Alisbeth Redblade, daughter of Malath and Diori Redblade, apprentice to Tirion Fordring.”

Gildwynn wipes his oily hand on his thick leather vest before taking hers and shaking. “Gildwynn Steamvolt. Congratulations on your promotion, I guess.” He motions for her to follow. “C’mon. My friend owns a shop next door. We’ll grab you some threads.”

Alisbeth nods and stands to follow. “Yes, please. Thank you so much, Gildwynn. I’m so embarrassed being in just this towel.”

Gildwynn leads her through an alley behind the lounge and into a neighboring shop. He raps his knuckles on a wooden shelf as he walks in the backmost part of the store. “Aub?”

“‘Ay, what lowlife don’t use the front door, eh?” A dark green goblin with deep red hair in a sideways ponytail pops her head through the curtain leading from the front of the shop to the back. Her blue lips twist upward in a gleeful smile. “Steamy! What brings you to the back of—Oh! The bombs. I been workin’ on ‘em, I swear. Doin’ em up real nice, like your schematic says, boss. Just, eh…running into a few kinks with the trigger.”

Gildwynn scowls. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Alisbeth blinks at the cracked skin of the female goblin. She shakes it off and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Alisbeth Re—”

“Yeah, yeah. Hi.” She gets in Gildwynn’s face. “You can’t replace me, not over a couple bombs. You can’t do this to me! Sure, I’m a little slow, but I ain’t never let you down, have I?”

He leans away from her face and his cyan eyes widen slightly. “You’re doing a fine job! I’m not replacing you!” He sighs. “This is a friend of Ana’s. She needs some clothes…obviously.”

Aubyne smiles and leans in close to Gildwynn. She reaches up her hand, outstretching her index finger. “Boop.” She touches the tip of his long nose.

Gildwynn brings both hands up to swat away her finger and purses his lips.

The goblin giggles and observes the blood elf. “Clothes I can do.” She holds out her hand.

Alisbeth frowns. “I don’t have—”

“Course you don’t. Unless you’re hiding it somewheres I don’t wanna take it from you, anyway.” She moves her hand to Gildwynn. “Come on, doll, you know the drill.”

He narrows his eyes at her palm and digs in his pocket for a few gold pieces. “All too well,” he grunts and slaps them into her hand. “Nothing too fancy, you hear? She’s not goin’ to a ball.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m hearin you. No balls.” Aubyne ushers them into the front of the store.

Alisbeth frowns. “I am terribly sorry, Gildwynn. I’ll be sure to pay you back, I swear.”

“With interest!” Aubyne sings from the other side of the curtain.

Gildwynn scoffs and follows, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He smiles a coy grin and brushes his nails against his vest. “Just put in a good word with Ana for me.” He stops to observe a leather harness of questionable taste on a mannequin.

“All right, doll, you stand there and put your arms out to your sides.” Aubyne points at a spot on the floor.

Alisbeth stares down at the towel being held up by her arms. “Uh…”

While collecting things from her desk, Aubyne stamps twice on the floor. A curtain rises up to surround the elf. The towel falls to the floor moments later. Aubyne sets a pink quill to a pre-written parchment form, then tosses a rolled-up measuring tape over the curtain. The tape slinks around Alisbeth, measuring every angle of her, after each measurement the quill scribbles down the numbers. Once done, the tape falls to the ground in a heap and the quill drops on its side.

“Skinny little thing, aren’t you?” The goblin takes a telescopic pointer from the desk and goes looking through all the fabrics lining the shelves up to the ceiling. “I think a nice yellow would go great with your skin tone.” She lengthens the pointer to tap the fabric—which slides from the shelf and down onto the workbench.

“I’ve been told I wear red best,” Alisbeth says from behind the curtain.

Gildwynn flushes as he notices the elf’s figure through the curtain and leans his shoulder against the desk in back, his arms folded. “I can’t stress enough that you shouldn’t put her in something ridiculous, Aub.”

“Ridiculous? What d’you mean ridiculous?” The goblin scoffs. “Nothing wrong with a pretty yellow dress. Pale yellow, like sun beams!”

“Red is really my—”

“I ain’t putting your blue behind into no red dress. Have you _no_ fashion sense at all?” She scoffs again in irritation as she cuts the fabric to shape, then begins to sew it together. “Comin into my shop askin favors and _nothing fancy_, _nothing ridiculous_. Ugh. You people.” She sketches out some long points around the neck of the dress, then threads a needle with a darker yellow. It sets to work following the lines she’d made. She spins on Gildwynn. “You got a problem with my clothes, you go somewheres else, Steamy.”

Gildwynn scowls. “And if _you_ got a problem with _my_ gold, you can give it back and I _will_ go somewheres else!”

Aubyne moves into Gildwynn’s personal space. “Aww, you’re so cute when you threaten to never stop by again. We both know you’ll be back, Steamy.” She raises her finger and slowly pokes his nose. “Boop.”

Gildwynn growls and swats at her hands again. “_Stop calling me that!_ And _cute_! Stop calling me that, too!” He folds his arms again and scowls. “And of course I’ll be back. I’m always here on the days you don’t show up to _my_ shop.”

“_Ack!_ My skin is _blue!_ What happened? Somebody must have put something in the water, that’s it. Someone dye-packed me!” Alisbeth licks her thumb and begins scrubbing at her arm.

Aubyne picks up the needle where it had fallen down after completing its task. “I think you just like the smell of the fabric dye…and my sister. She’s stoppin by today, you know.” She winks over her shoulder at him, then fluffs out the dress. “Nothin _ridiculous_, see?” It’s a simple yellow sun dress with spikes at the collar, making it look like sunbeams.

Gildwynn again flushes at the underhanded accusation but scoffs all the same. He gives Alisbeth a once over and pulls his ears back. “It’s…bright.”

“Nothin wrong with a little pastel. I’m not opposed to making another. Your choice, Gildwynn… For a price, of course.” She holds up her hand as though expecting him to pay for another dress.

“Excuse me, but, yellow isn’t really my color. Besides that, I think we should figure out why my skin is _blue_. I can’t get it off!” She resumes scrubbing at her arm. “Tirion is not going to be happy. How am I supposed to report for duty like this? This is a disaster!”

Gildwynn eyes Aubyne’s hand and then her face. “Yer outta yer mind.” He lifts his eyebrows at Alisbeth’s musings and clears his throat into a fist. “M-…Maybe I should get someone that can break it to her gently.”

Aubyne shrugs at Gildwynn. “Was worth a try.” She furrows her brow at the elf. “Where’d you find this one? Under a rock?” She walks over to Alisbeth and takes her hands. “Stop doin that, you’re gonna tear your skin open.” She pushes her to sit on a stool.

Alisbeth picks at the seam of the dress just above her knee. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I should be in Southshore. No one will tell me where I am.”

Gildwynn cringes. “You’re in Dalaran. In the Broken Isles.” He sighs and runs a clawed hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…that thick-headed asshole might be useful here.” He sets a hand on Aubyne’s shoulder as he makes for the door. “Keep her busy. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Alisbeth stares at Gildwynn, then at Aubyne. “What are the Broken Isles? Wait, Dalaran? Oh! If I can just get a steed I can ride back to Southshore—”

Aubyne yanks her back to sitting as the elf tries to stand. “You ain’t ridin anywhere off this rock, doll. Just wait for Steamy to get back. He might be a stick in the mud, but he knows what he’s doing most the time.” She slips in back and returns a second later with a pair of white slippers that tie around the ankle. “Here, busy yourself with tryin these on.”

Nearly half an hour passes before the goblin returns with the demon hunter in tow. He motions to the death knight trying on various headpieces. “Maybe you can give it to her lightly.”

Grimory tilts his head cautiously. “Ali? Is everything all right? I’m told you’re kind of…confused?”

Alisbeth turns at the sound of the new voice. She drops the floral arrangement Aubyne is forcing her to pin in her hair. Her nose crinkles and her mouth turns to a scowl. “Demon!” She runs into the back room.

Aubyne pulls a lever and the doors and windows all shut and bar themselves.

“Open this door!” Alisbeth demands.

“Nope. Come apologize.”

Alisbeth reappears in the doorway with a pair of shears. “How did you get here? Where are the rest? What are you—”

Aubyne yanks on the scissors, trying to get them away from the elf. “Thems my good shears!”

Grimory sighs as Alisbeth leaves the room. “Yeah.” He folds his arms and sets his weight on a hip as she returns. “I’m not a demon. I’m your…friend.” He clears his throat. “Let’s go back to your room, yeah? We got a lot to talk about.”

Alisbeth relinquishes the scissors as the goblin resorts to biting the back of her hand. She rubs her injury and studies him. “I think I’d remember having a friend that’s…half-demon?”

“Demon hunter,” Aubyne says casually, stowing her scissors in a drawer.

“Okay, look, whoever—whatever—you are, you just stay away from me. Someone summon Tirion to take me home, please. I don’t know what this prank is, but it’s not a fun one. This is not how you prank the new cadet!” she screams at the ceiling, as though someone from the next level is watching through the floorboards.

Gildwynn sighs. “You think we got time to orchestrate pranks around here?” His brow furrows. “Well—we do, but mostly her. And during business hours at _my_ shop.”

Aubyne gives Gidlwynn a sly wink. “You act like you don’t laugh…after the customer leaves.”

Grimory holds out a hand. “Look, Ali. Like I said. I’m a friend. I won’t hurt you. I promise. Just come with me. I think I have an answer to all your questions.”

Alisbeth steps toward Grimory, but yanks her arm away when he tries to take her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

A knocking raps from the front door. A second later the whole shop shakes with a BOOM! BOOM! CRASH! as the door explodes inward.

“My door!” Aubyne runs forward to kick at the Sky Golem on the other side. “Why you gotta do them things, eh? Coulda waited for me to open up!”

A blue haired goblin in black leather with silver embellishments and a ruby on her belt hops down from the golem. She adjusts her diamond goggles and strides forward with a black sack on her shoulder.

“I got your tubes, Aub. You said they was urgent, and here they are.”

“Not important enough to smash my door!”

The blue haired goblin gives an impish grin. “No, not that urgent.”

Gildwynn gives a chuckle, unaffected by the chaos. “Don’t feel too good, does it?” he laughs to Aubyne.

Grimory grits his teeth and turns to lead her from the store. He braces himself as dust and debris blow in from the now open door. He grumbles something about goblins and explosives and sidesteps around the two smaller figures.

Alisbeth follows the demon hunter from the shop, stepping around the debris and ignoring the insanity.

“You come back any time, doll,” Aubyne shouts to Alisbeth. “Peeb, you owe me a door, you know.”

“I know, I know.” She sets the bag on the counter. “Heya, Steamy! How’s it shakin?”

Gildwynn gives a curt wave and smiles. “Better now. How goes business?” His wave falters some. “And please stop calling me that.”

Grimory leads Alisbeth back to the lounge and up the stairs. “That’s a nice dress,” he murmurs as they ascend. When they get to her room he gives her a once over. “You don’t happen to have the key, do you?”

Alisbeth straightens, a sheepish looks creeps into her eyes. “I woke in the showers. I only had a towel to wear. What do you think, buddy?”

Grimory lifts his eyebrows at her attitude. “I think you should go back to the showers and grab it before I get us both in a lot of trouble.”

Alisbeth turns to make a rude face where he can’t see. She stomps halfway down the hall, then stops and looks back at him. “Wait, who are you to give me orders? You’re not my superior. I’ll have you know that I’m headed to Lordaeron to become a lieutenant. What are you? Some half-demon weirdo with a disdain for shirts? You can’t order me around, bub.” By the end of her rant she’s back in front of him. She pokes her finger into his sternum, her lips pressed thin with impatience.

Grimory’s expression turns from one of irritation to one of mild interest. He grins and sets his hands on his hips then tenses the muscles in his chest as he looks down at her. “Lordaeron, you say? My, how impressive. I suppose a strong, independent woman like you wouldn’t need my help retrieving a room key, then, yeah?”

Alisbeth narrows her eyes. “Are you patronizing me? Maybe I should ask if a ‘big strong’ man such as yourself tested the knob first, huh?”

Without moving his eyes from hers, Grimory reaches down to grab the knob. It catches when he tries to turn it. His smirk widens and he lifts a brow.

Alisbeth narrows her eyes at him. “At least you tried. A shame I didn’t see the look on your face when it opened anyway.” She turns and goes to the shower door. After a single knock, someone shouts from the other side. She folds her arms over her chest and sighs impatiently as she leans back against the wall.

Grimory rolls his eyes and watches her leave. When he sees her sitting idly at the shower door, he turns toward the room and morphs a single finger. Using his claw, he digs around in the keyhole until the door pops open. “No need,” he calls, pushing it open further.

Alisbeth rolls her eyes and goes back down the hall. “So, you were lying to me? I win? Do you know how utterly lame that was to pretend it was still locked?” She enters the room and looks around. “Wow, this is a disaster. Is this your room?”

Grimory shrugs. “It technically _was_ locked. Just…you know. If someone else has the key they can just come in, now.” He closes the door behind them and narrows an eye. “This is your room. At the Legerdemain Lounge. In Dalaran. Over the Broken Isles.”

Alisbeth narrows her eyes. “I… You’re lying, for one. This is disgusting. I could never live in a room so… Wait, what are the Broken Isles? Dalaran is in Hillsbrad, north of Southshore. If you’ll just lend me a horse so I can go back, then Tirion can clear this whole thing up.” She pokes at a pile of clothing on the floor, sneering as though it’ll give her some sort of disease.

Grimory swallows a sigh. “Why would I lie to you? What invested interest do I have in doing so?” He thinks for a moment and ushers her over after a second of realization. “Come here. Look in this mirror.” He motions toward the vanity.

Alisbeth folds her arms over her chest. “What ‘invested interest’ do you have in me, anyway? I mean, who even are you?” She rests on a hip and gives him a petulant look.

Grimory inhales sharply, then waits a moment. “I’m Grimory. You and I have a daughter, all right? I…_care_ about you. You’ve been living here for a couple months, now.” He sits back to assess her reaction.

Alisbeth blinks and waits for him to give away the trick. She breaks down laughing. “Wow. You are so good at this, Grimory. Not even a hint at the joke. Are you the one that dyed my skin?”

Grimory simply stares with a look of utter seriousness on his features, arms folded and ears pulled back in minor irritation.

Alisbeth sobers and rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ll look in your stupid mirror.” She stands before the reflective surface, a frown spreads across her lips. She feels her hair and smooths her fingers along her skin. “What… What sort of charm is this? What is this image supposed to be? Frost…elf?”

Grimory fidgets, unable to tell her the truth. He bites at his lip, unsure of what else to do if his original plan failed. “Y-yeah. It’s a charm. We were drinking last night. You lost a bet.” He runs a palm over his face and goes to sit on the bed. “Did anything happen between then and now? Anything you remember?”

Alisbeth’s frown deepens. “You give yourself away. No way was I drinking, especially not with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find someone who can remove this charm.” She lifts her white hair and whimpers. She straightens, her face set with determination. “If I don’t laugh at the end of this prank, heads will roll.” She shoves past him to get to the door.

Grimory stands before she can leave and goes to her, a hand on the door but not pressing hard enough to keep her from opening it. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Any of it?”

Alisbeth rolls her eyes. “Look, old man, I’m just done with all of this nonsense, okay? If I don’t get back to Tirion he’s going to lose his mind and I’ll probably spend the night in the stocks…again.” She pushes him out of her way and goes back into the tavern with every intention of finding the stables to rent a steed.

“_Old?!_” It takes a moment of rage before Grimory even notices she’s left. He follows and grabs her hand just as she leaves the door. “Here. You don’t believe me? I’ll fucking show you.” Before she can retort, he scoops her into his arms and takes off over the shops and streets. “And don’t kick me.”

Alisbeth gasps and tenses, digging her fingers into his shoulders. A blush creeps dark blue up her neck to flood her cheeks at the feeling of his bare skin against her. She squeaks in shock as her skirt flutters in the wind; she shoves the fabric between her legs. Her eyes scan over his face and her blush deepens. _It’s a shame he’s half demon… He’s actually kind of attractive._


	7. Chapter 7

Koltira stares down at the stone. “Ana…what is that?”

Anarchaia jerks back out of Taveth’s way as he sits up. The crystal disappears and she gives Koltira an innocent smile. “Certainly nothing demonic. Heh.”

Khadgar narrows his eyes down at her from behind the death knight. “Certainly better not be.”

Taveth gives the other two a tired smile. “Would Ana ever do that? Now, library. _Library!_” He shoots up to standing as he sets his eyes on the huge room full of books, then has to lower himself down, one hand on his woozy head.

“Yes,” Koltira says, laughing, “the library. That’s where we are.”

Anarchaia frowns up at him, still knelt. “Do you need more?” she asks quietly as her teacher wanders off after giving a wary glance. “Or water?” She pauses. “Oh. I-I guess not. Heh.”

“_Drinking_ water would be nice. And…yes, a bit more. I guess I took a harder hit than I’m used to…which is really any hit at all, heh.” He sets his hand on her shoulder as Koltira eyes the spines of the tomes on a nearby shelf. “I can do it this time. I know it’s…” He casts his ashamed gaze down. “It was an accident.”

Anarchaia nods and conjures the crystal again, holding it out. In her other hand appears a cup filled with water and ice. “It’s okay, Tav. Stop finding ways to blame yourself.” She smiles.

Taveth crushes the stone and inhales the vapors, then accepts the water. He takes a thoughtful sip. “I should’ve just…left well enough alone, heh. ‘Just a silly little dagger.’” He scoffs. “You’d think I’d have been smarter.”

Anarchaia rests a comforting hand on his knee and urges him to look at her by leaning down. “Hey, we’ve all done things we regret,” she says in nearly a whisper. “But regretting something doesn’t make it a mistake.” She stands. “Come on. Maybe you can find something useful in here. Master may not let you take it, but _I_ can.” She gives him a wink.

Taveth smiles. “Oh, I couldn’t. Notes should be fine, though. I hope.”

“We’re not staying here all year,” Koltira says, patting the other on the shoulder.

Taveth flushes and finishes the water, then hands the cup back to the mage.

Anarchaia chuckles and sends the cup away. She shrugs. “The offer still stands.” She turns to investigate a pile of books stacked haphazardly on an end table.

Taveth chuckles and heads for the nearest shelf. “I’ll let you know.”

Koltira laughs and whispers, “Most likely to get banned from the Karazhan library for stealing.” He points at Taveth, who points at Anarchaia.

Anarchaia turns to Taveth to see the pointed finger. She straightens and bristles. “Hey! I offered to help you!” She pauses. “I mean…you’re right. But still!” She takes a book from the stack and it disappears. She turns to go find more.

Taveth chuckles after her and finds a tome that interests him.

Koltira joins the mage, slipping an arm around her waist. “Well, he’s not moving for a while.”

After a quick glance around Anarchaia blushes a light shade of pink and bites her lip as she leans into him. “Are you suggesting we do the same?”

Koltira smirks and pulls the mage closer into himself. “Well, I wasn’t… But since you brought it up…”

Anarchaia sinks into his embrace and closes her eyes, smiling. “Perhaps later you and I can return to the pond. Winter is coming and we won’t be able to go often.” She pauses, her smile fading. “Though I suppose that doesn’t matter much, does it?”

Koltira sets a series of gentle pecks on her lips. “I won’t feel a thing and you can just melt the snow anyway.” He spins her to hide behind a bookshelf to kiss her deeper.

Anarchaia sighs happily into the kisses then bites back an audible chuckle as he pushes her into privacy. She runs the backs of her skeletal fingers down his cheek. “Not sure what I did to deserve you,” she titters quietly and pushes her forehead to his.

Koltira smirks evilly. “A lot of very bad things, obviously.”

Taveth walks around the corner, his eyes on the book. He stops and his eyes widen at the two. Without a word, he shuffles away, ducking his head.

Anarchaia covers her lips with her fingertips and stifles another titter. “C’mon, I already feel guilty enough—” She catches Taveth out the corner of her eye. “Oh! The picture!” She grabs Koltira by the front of his shirt. “Is this fun enough?”

Koltira chuckles. “I suppose it’s as much fun as we’re going to get.” He slides his own cold fingers along her jaw.

Anarchaia bites her lip again and inhales through her nose, then exhales slowly through parted lips. “Okay, I wanna get out of here. Tav!” She reaches around Koltira’s belt to grab the camera and chase after the high elf while simultaneously fixing her hair.

Taveth jumps slightly and gives an automatic “_Shh!_” He flinches at himself. “Sorry. I-I’m here.”

The mage throws her arm around Taveth’s neck and pulls him close. “Having fun, yes?” She outstretches the camera quizzically.

Taveth gives a shy laugh and looks at the device. “Sure, yeah. You?”

Koltira presses in on Anarchaia’s other side to ruffle the man’s hair. “I think it’s safe to say we all are.”

The camera floats up from Anarchaia’s hand and angles at the trio. She pulls the two close and gives the most genuine smile she can muster. “Say _reading is magic_!” she laughs. The light flashes and camera clatters to the floor as she blinks multiple times. She rubs at her good eye. “I forgot about the flash. Heh.”

Taveth and Koltira rub their eyes.

The death knight kisses the top of her head. “Thank you for today, Ana.”

Taveth squirms uncomfortably, but gives Anarchaia a hug. “Yes, thank you.”

Anarchaia turns a bright shade of scarlet and smiles. “O-oh! Heh. Stop.” She picks up the camera and sends it away in a flurry of sparkles. After looking about for a moment she hums. “Did anyone see where Master Khadgar went?”

“He went that way,” Taveth says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Anarchaia nods and smiles in thanks, then slinks off into the bookshelves where she’d been directed. She stops when she notices a familiar head of silver hair in the shadows beneath a spiral staircase. She hurries over to find Khadgar holding his calf in a pained manner while sitting in a lounge chair. Brow knit, she ducks under the staircase. “You’re hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, kneading the muscle but gaining no relief. “Just a bit of a sprain…or something of the sort.”

“You should have said something.” She scowls and makes to bend and aid him, but he grabs her wrist to stop her.

“_I’ll be fine,_” he repeats and urges her to stand again.

“We should go, then. See you to a healer. An injury is an injury. No matter how minor.”

Taveth rushes forward on a knee-jerk reaction. “Are you okay Khadgar? Can I help? No, probably not, but Ana is right and—” He purses his lips and looks up at the man. “S-sorry.”

The corner of Khadgar’s lips jerks and he stands. “It’s quite all right. I’m fine. Just a strained leg.”

Anarchaia grabs his arm as though he may fall, though he gives no signs of doing so. “We’re leaving. You need a healer.”

The Archmage narrows his eyes down at her and her commands, jaw clenched. He looks at Taveth. “I’d hate to deny you of your thirst for knowledge…”

Taveth blushes and looks away. “It’s fine, really. Better to get you healed.”

Koltira smirks as he watches from a distance.

Khadgar gives Anarchaia a fleeting glance and sighs as he turns away. “I’m honestly fine. If your friend would prefer to stay—”

Anarchaia tightens her grip on his arm and glares.

“Right.” He glances over at Koltira. “I suppose we’re leaving. I presume Ana has your belongings safe and sound.”

“I do. They’re in my room.”

“Well and good,” he mumbles and motions the death knight over.

Koltira joins the others. “I’m sure he can find copies in other libraries?”

Taveth shrugs. “Heh. Probably not.”

Anarchaia releases her teacher as Koltira nears and sobers. She nudges Taveth and says in her best demonic. <<You and I will return. Yes?>>

Khadgar grabs Atiesh from the pillar he’d rested it against. Light emits from the effigy’s eyes and the group disappears. They reappear in the familiar circular hall at the base of the Violet Citadel. He braces himself against his staff as the pain increases.

Anarchaia again grabs him by the arm. “I’m going to see him to the infirmary. I’ll be right down with your clothes, okay?” she says with a nervous glance around as she brushes her hair over her uncovered eye.

Taveth gives the mage a subdued but grateful smile. “Go. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Koltira stretches a hand out to Khadgar. “Thank you for allowing us into your…tower of horrors?” He chuckles.

Khadgar gives Koltira’s hand a firm shake and a weary smile. “I promise it’s not normally like that. I’ll…” He sighs. “I’ll have to orchestrate a company to go clear it out.” He looks down at Anarchaia. “Then you and I are returning to do some actual cleaning.” He regards Taveth. “Sorry you fell. Heh.” He extends his hand to him.

Taveth blushes and takes the Archmage’s hand. “N-nothing to worry about. Heh. I g-got some great research done.”

Khadgar smiles and nods. “Then it wasn’t _all_ for naught.” He gives his apprentice a sideways glance. “Until we meet again,” he says to the men and the two disappear.

“Okay, squirrely,” Koltira says to Taveth, who stares innocent, wide eyes back at him, “what’s going on with you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re—”

Koltira grabs the elf’s bandaged hand. “How’d you burn yourself? There wasn’t anything going on and you got injured. And that mysterious yellow rock?”

Taveth pulls his hand back and shrinks away from Koltira.

After many minutes, Anarchaia returns in her normal garb with the men’s clothing in her arms. She holds out their outfits in turn. “That was…exhausting. Heh. I could use a drink. What’re we talking about?”

“We’re talking about Taveth being _weird_,” Koltira says, narrowing suspicious eyes at the other.

“I’m not being weird! I’m—I’m— I have to check on Diori.” He unwinds the bandage from his hand as he exits the citadel.

Anarchaia lifts a hand after him but does not follow. She instead shrugs and gives a crooked smile. “I guess we’ll never know.” She ushers him to follow her outside. “I’m sure you could use a shower.” She wipes at the crusted mana wyrm blood on his cheekbone.

Koltira nods, absently watching the high elf enter Greyfang Enclave. “A shower would be nice, yes,” he says, giving the mage his attention. “Why doesn’t his shiftiness absolutely bother you to death? What happened when you went to find him?”

Anarchaia hesitates. “He was attacked by spiders. I-I saved him.” She presses her shoulder to his as they walk. “And I guess I myself have lived in a secret for so long that it doesn’t bother me when others do the same. Heh.”

“I find that very hard to believe, miss gossip.” He wraps an arm around her. “Oh, look at that, now you’re dirty again. What should we do about that?”

Anarchaia feigns offense, a hand over her chest. “I don’t _gossip_!” She smiles and wraps her arm around his waist. “And I guess we could wash off in a body of water somewhere? Perhaps a stream or, say, a pond?” She pauses when she notices a couple of familiar faces. “Oh, it’s Ali and Grim.”

~ * ~

Grimory picks a random floating island to land on—overlooking the isles, rolling ocean, and sunset peeking through the oncoming rain clouds. “This is the Broken Isles,” he says as he sets her down. “What would have been the Legion’s stronghold. That over there is the tomb of Sargeras. We’ve held them off thus far. You’ve helped.”

Alisbeth falls to her knees, too scared to stand. She grips her skirt as the breeze grabs at it. “What did you do to me? What is this? Where am I? _Where’s Tirion?_”

Grimory sighs and scratches at the nape of his neck. “Tirion Fordring…fell. In the fight for the shore. He’ll always be remembered as the valiant hero he was.” He kneels beside her and holds out a comforting hand. “I’m sorry.”

A tear forces its way from Alisbeth’s eye. “I think it’s time to wake up. Take me back.”

Grimory retracts his hand and nods with another sigh. “Sure.” He lifts her again and spreads his wings. When they return to the lounge, he sets her down. “Ali, I know this is a lot to take in. I don’t know what happened to you, but you seem to have forgotten everything…”

“Goodbye, Mister Grimory, and thank you for a glimpse into what you _think_ will be the future. Now, wake me up.” Alisbeth stands rigid in front of the Illidari, her face set and determined.

Grimory tilts his head away and narrows his eyes. “If you’re insinuating that I hit you, that’s far from happening.” He notices the other two out the corner of his eye. “Oh, thank gods. Maybe you two can convince—” He narrows his eyes further at Koltira’s apparel. “Did you lose a bet, too?”

Koltira looks Grimory in the eyes and just blinks. “No.”

As she had with the demon hunter, her eyes take in Koltira and her nose wrinkles into a sneer, her lips curving into a frown. “Another frosty-elf? Is this a thing in your reality?” she asks Grimory. Not waiting for an answer, she scoffs and turns to enter the Legerdemain Lounge, her fingertips pressed to her temples. After a moment, she pauses, then spins around. Eyes narrowed on the other death knight, she leaps at him. “That’s _mine!_” She yanks at the Redblade across his back. “That was my father’s, you filthy thief!”

Anarchaia jumps and presses herself between the two before anymore aggression can surface. “W-what’s going on here?! What happened?”

“I have no idea,” Grimory responds helplessly. “She’s got amnesia or something. She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t even know Dalaran’s been moved…twice.” He runs a hand over his hair. “I’m lost at what to do at this point.”

Alisbeth gets the sword free as Koltira doesn’t resist, a bored look on his face. She kicks him in the stomach and holds her sword ready. “You’re lucky you don’t really exist.” She spins and stomps into the inn.

Anarchaia cries out at the violence and quickly follows, fuming. “Excuse me! That was highly unnecessary! _Don’t ignore me!_”

Koltira smacks his lips at Grimory. “Did you show her a mirror?”

Grimory gives the other an exhausted glance. “Of course I did. It did nothing. She still thinks she’s dreaming. Nothing I say matters.”

“How far back did she go?” Koltira asks, following the mage slowly to make sure she doesn’t get injured.

Alisbeth crosses her arms and turns, rolling her eyes at Anarchaia. “Look…you… If a small kick hurt your boyfriend then he’s just a pussy. Now you know. You’re welcome.” She turns to walk away from the mage again.

“‘Ay, doll, you forgot your towel!” The goblin runs up behind Anarchaia, stopping for the shortest moment to admire the mage’s skirt.

“Oh, thanks Aubyne.”

“No prob, sugar. You, what fabric is this? It’s fantastic! The color is so vibrant, even though it’s _got_ to be at least a couple’a decades old.” She rubs the skirt between her thumb and forefinger.

“_That’s not the point!_” Anarchaia barks and lifts a hand to stop her but is interrupted by the goblin. “O-oh. Uh. Thank you. They were a gift, actually. Enchanted. And you’re right; they’re over fifty years old. Aren’t you Gildwynn’s friend?”

“Sure am, doll. Say, who enchanted these? I’d love to chat with ‘em.” Aubyne smiles up at the undead girl.

Alisbeth takes the woman’s distraction as an opportunity to slip away and return to her room.

Anarchaia gives a wry smile beneath her mask. “I’m not sure, in all honesty. I wouldn’t leave my room, so I suppose it was whomever was in charge of the Enchanting Shoppe at that time. Heh.”

“Well she doesn’t remember me at all. She mentioned something about Southshore and Lordaeron?” Grimory hails a barmaid for an ale. “I had to tell her Tirion was dead. That was fun.”

Koltira watches Alisbeth go and sighs. “She’s never gone back this far. It’s usually to Quel’Thalas.” He thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t she in Southshore when you uh…‘shoed her horse?’”

Grimory scoffs into his mug. “I _did_ shoe her horse. But yeah, you’re right.” He narrows an eye at the death knight. “Are you suggesting I do it again?”

Koltira scrunches one slightly disgusted eye at Grimory. “No.” He passes by Anarchaia and the Goblin. “I’m going to use the showers here. Maybe see to Ali.” He cringes some, knowing how jealous the mage still gets.

Aubyne lets go of the skirt and sighs wistfully. “You ever find out who that was, you come tell me, capice? Steamy knows where to find me.”

Anarchaia snerks at the nickname and nods. “Will do.” Her wry smile turns wryer at Koltira’s words and virtual bailing on their plans. “Right. Okay. I’ll be here. Heh.”

Grimory motions for the mage to sit beside him at the bar. “How was the haunted castle?”

“Boring,” she admits and sighs. “Though I think Master wanted it to be a learning experience. But it kind of turned into a field trip.” She puts her forehead in her hands.

After his shower, Koltira goes to Alisbeth’s room. He knocks and takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Who is it?”

“Koltira.”

She stays silent for a long time. “Who? Oh, whatever, just come in.” When he enters, she scowls. “Oh. You. There better be a good reason you had my sword, asshole.”

He folds his arms and stares at her for a long time. “I found it. It looked valuable, so I was keeping it safe. I used it a few times. Good sword, came in handy.”

She leans back against the pillows and purses her lips. “I’m not sure how you could have _found_ it—or wielded it—but I’ll thank you for returning it.” Her eyes, narrow with distrust, sweep over his face. “What are you?”

“I was once a farstrider. After I died I was raised as a death knight.”

“I’ve never heard of a death knight.” She folds her arms over her chest and sighs. “Are you also going to convince me that my mentor is dead and we’re at war with demons?”

He smirks. “I’m not going to convince you of anything. Why don’t you just come with me to the tavern, have a few dr— Wait, you don’t drink, do you?”

“No.”

He smiles triumphantly for remembering such a minor detail of her pious years. “Drink or don’t, that’s your choice, but I think you’ll be happy joining us downstairs.”

She eyes him warily. “Why?”

“Let’s call it a surprise.”


	8. Chapter 8

Taveth sits on a stool beside Anarchaia and smiles. “Thank you.” He sets the clothes from Karazhan on the bar and leans over to give her a small hug. “So, what are we drinking?”

Anarchaia gives a smile no one can see and returns the hug. The clothes disappear from the bar top. “No reason to thank me. And, uh…” She looks to Arille. “Wine? White.” The barkeep nods and pours her a glass before looking at Taveth expectantly.

Taveth shrugs. “Sure. That, I suppose.”

“I’ll have a whiskey, whole bottle with a glass,” Koltira says behind them. He runs his palm through the crook of Anarchaia’s waist and smiles at her. “Oh, and some Moonberry juice for our _new_ friend over there.” He motions at Alisbeth, sitting alone and lost-looking on the couch at the back of the room.

Arille pours another glass of generic white wine and slides it to Taveth. He chews on the inside of his cheek at Koltira’s request and rummages through the numerous bottles behind the bar. “Ah,” he says quietly and pours an ivory cup of juice before setting it on the bar as well. “All on your tab I take it?” he says with a sly smirk to the mage.

Anarchaia runs a hand beneath the bar to rest over Koltira’s and she gives Arille a mocking grin. “May as well.” She pushes her mask up to drink her wine.

Grimory takes the glass of juice and delivers it to Alisbeth. “Still think you’re dreaming?” he asks as he holds it out for her.

Alisbeth tugs at the hem of her skirt, pulling it closer to her knees as an action of modesty. She eyes him and the cup. “If I’m not dreaming, then how did I skip so much?”

The demon hunter takes a cautious seat beside her and pushes the cup into her palm when she doesn’t take it. “I think something’s happened to your head. You’re different than you were yesterday.” He settles an arm over the backrest of the sofa. “Think of it this way: what’s more likely? We’re all playing an elaborate prank that none of us are willing to back down from, or _you’re_ not remembering correctly?”

Koltira sets a hand on Taveth’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s give Ali a familiar face. I warn you, she’s, um…not exactly in the present. Thinks she’s being pranked.”

Taveth cranes his neck and watches her with interest. “That’s…odd.” He stands and heads to the others.

Koltira leans to Anarchaia. “Maybe she’ll stay this way and it won’t be such a pain for you,” he says.

Anarchaia gives another wry smile. “One can only hope. Heh.” She hops down from her barstool to stride across the lounge and set herself in an adjacent loveseat.

Taveth sits on the other side of Alisbeth, a shy smile on his face. “S-so… Koltira says there’s—”

“Tav!” Alisbeth turns and hugs him in a gentle manner.

His eyes widen. “Yes, yes. This is odd. You didn’t hit me.” He takes a sip of wine and makes a face at the quality, then clears his throat. “So, tell me, what is this supposed prank?”

Alisbeth details the facts Grimory was trying to tell her, along with what she knows is the truth. Taveth nods thoughtfully. “So, uhm… Southshore… How old are you?”

“Eighty-nine, of course.” She sips the juice nodding approval at the flavor.

Taveth leans around to Grimory. “I’m not sure how to help. I’m sorry.”

Grimory gives a shrug and takes a long drink of ale. “Oh well. Guess this is life, now.” He sets his mug aside and sighs. “So, nothing we say makes sense to you?” he asks in Alisbeth’s direction.

She takes a pensive drink and glances at him. “I think the kid part is the least believable. I don’t want to marry for at least another century… Maybe more.”

Koltira clears his throat awkwardly as he drops down beside Anarchaia.

Grimory does the same and looks away. “W-we’re not married. We just…have a child together.” His fingers twitch as he resists taking up his mug again and emptying the contents in one go.

Anarchaia purses her lips and does what Grimory has the restraint not to do.

Alisbeth casts an incredulous look at each person in turn. “I would never…”

“You did,” Taveth says. “Her name is Diori. You sent her to be raised by my father, so, she’s my little sister.” He gives her a comforting smile.

“But…she’s a bastard…”

Koltira straightens in his seat, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Grimory bristles but contains himself. “What does that have to do with anything? So, she’s less of a person because you and I aren’t together?”

Anarchaia leans over to Koltira while waving her empty glass at the bar. “This is uncomfortable, even though I’m not involved at all,” she whispers against his ear.

After a moment of fuming silence, Taveth reaches out and slaps Alisbeth across the face. “Don’t you dare _ever_ insinuate that something is wrong with that girl. She’s wonderful and perfect and she is my world. Do you understand me?”

Grimory flinches at the sound and gives Taveth an incredulous look after processing what’d happened.

Alisbeth’s eyes remain wide as she rubs her cheek. “I-I suppose I can…ignore it.” She casts her gaze to the mage sitting across from her, finding a good way to change the subject. “And who are you? We haven’t properly met.”

Taveth seethes in the corner, nursing his wine until it’s gone.

Anarchaia blinks as she’s regarded and straightens again as the barmaid takes her empty cup. “Oh. No one important. I’m Anarchaia. I’m an apprentice to an Archmage here in Dalaran. Heh.” She pauses. “And I’d appreciate it if the violence were kept to a minimum?”

Taveth flushes and casts an apologetic look to Anarchaia. “Hands to myself, right.” He stands and goes to the bar, using the excuse of ordering a new drink to get away from his cousin.

Alisbeth straightens and scoots the littlest bit away from Grimory. “Didn’t think he had it in him to physically harm someone.”

Grimory’s eyes flick from the widening space between them to her face. He takes another drink of ale, an unamused look on his face.

Anarchaia clears her throat as another glass of wine is set before her. “So Lordaeron? What business do you have there?”

“I’m to be furthering my training and, hopefully soon, I’ll be promoted to lieutenant.” She glances at Grimory, then looks away, blushing.

Koltira gives a sigh and leans back, though for some reason, he can’t look away from the calm and collected Alisbeth—younger in her mind than when he knew her, but still so much the same woman he’d fallen in love with. She fidgets under his scrutiny.

Taveth returns with a more expensive red wine. He stares at the shrunken space where he’d been sitting, then sighs at the large space on the other side of Grimory. Instead of taking residence in either, he perches himself on the arm of the small sofa, where the mage sits. “So, this is fun,” he says, continuing under his breath, “I’d almost rather go back to the Tower of Terrors.”

Anarchaia snerks and tilts her head back to look at Taveth. “I said I’d bring you back, remember? Just didn’t realize you’d want to return so quickly.” She elbows him and winks though he cannot see it.

Grimory does his best to give her an understanding smile as he decides to play along. “Lieutenant at eighty-nine, eh? That’s pretty impressive. I bet you work hard.” He sends the waitress for more ale.

Alisbeth shifts and glances at him again. “It’s not really that impressive, I’m sure.” She takes a sip of the juice and furrows her brow at the lack of flavor.

Taveth sighs. “I’m not saying that breaking her Light’s oaths were okay, but I much prefer her as she usually is now.” He purses his lips at his cousin. “Tell us about your day. From when you woke up.”

“Why?” she asks cautiously.

“Call it dumb curiosity.”

She rolls her eyes. “I woke up in the shower in the wrong inn, a goblin took me to a tailor and I got a dress, then they brought in this guy and then he started trying to convince me all of this is real.”

“Definitely sounds like she hit her head,” the mage says quietly to the blond elf beside her. “But I agree, nonetheless. She’s not thrashing about our running away.”

Grimory narrows an eye. “Touch the back of your head,” he suggests, pointing at the back of his own to emphasize his meaning.

Nervous and confused, she touches her head and winces. “Why? What purpose did that serve?” She sets her juice down and leans her cheek on her fist. “Can we just stop talking about me? It’s boring and weird.”

“Hmm,” Taveth hums in thought. He turns to the mage and says quietly, “How do you suppose we cure amnesia caused by a bump on the head?”

Anarchaia shrugs and gives an awkward laugh. “Bumping her on the head again? Heh.”

Grimory casts a quick glance at Koltira then back to Alisbeth. “If someone wants a subject change it’s an unspoken rule that said person is responsible for proposing the new topic, yeah?”

Alisbeth flushes and turns away from Grimory. “Um, I… Why don’t you tell me… I don’t know.”

Grimory grins and leans back in his seat. “I guess we’ll just have to keep talking about you then.” He sips his ale. “You sure you don’t want a drink? There’s no one here to chastise you.”

Alisbeth scowls at him. “You think I abstain for fear of a chastising?”

Grimory’s grin widens some. “Oh? No reason to hold back, then, hm?”

“Maybe my sense of self pride doesn’t want me to. But please, by all means, enjoy looking foolish after getting slobbering drunk.” She eyes Taveth, choosing to ignore his choice in drink.

Koltira eyes the two beside him. “Now, I know you’re not plotting something loud enough for everyone to hear…”

Taveth clears his throat. “Of course not.” He gulps at his wine, his eyes on Alisbeth. <<So, how do we hit her hard enough to jog her back to the present—hopefully not farther back, we don’t need two adolescent elves on our hands. Ali was worse than Diori about getting into trouble,>> he says in Dwarvish.

Anarchaia sips at her own drink tentatively. <<Do we even want her back? I kind of like her this way. She’s…normal.>>

<<I’m just concerned with how she may treat Diori,>> Taveth replies.

“You two sound ridiculous,” Koltira growls.

“Do you feel left out?” Anarchaia smiles and sticks her tongue out at Koltira, then turns back to Taveth. <<Any self-respecting woman wouldn’t be rude to a child. Besides, she was hardly a mother before all this anyway, right? N-no offense.>>

Koltira returns the gesture, then wraps his arm around the mage’s shoulders, but says nothing.

<<If you insist on not bumping her back to reality…then I won’t pursue it.>> He watches for a while as the demon hunter chats with Alisbeth. He snorts. “He’s not going to get anywhere with her.”

Koltira chuckles. “Nope.”

Grimory lowers a brow but his smile remains. “I’m sure a smart girl like you realizes that there’s a level of drunkenness between sober and shitfaced. Besides, there are worse things in the world than _looking foolish_.”

Alisbeth moves down the couch, farther away from the demon hunter. “Pushiness isn’t charming, it’s annoying.”

Grimory gives her a judgmental look. “Pointing out the fault in your excuse is being pushy? You mistake me for caring. Drink what you want. Just saying your reasons are silly.” He shrugs and sets an ankle on a knee.

Alisbeth rolls her eyes dramatically, making sure the demon hunter can see the action. “You’re just so used to getting your way with, what…women? Yes, it has to be that, the way you preen and strut about like a peacock. Well, here’s some news for you, pretty boy, but I’m not that kind of girl. So you can put that smug little self-absorbed notion right out of that meaty head of yours.” She folds her arms curtly over her chest and sticks her nose in the air at him.

Grimory scoffs and pulls his ears back. “I’ve heard that one before,” he mumbles into his mug before draining it and setting it aside.

Anarchaia smiles and leans back into Koltira. She pushes a warm cheek to his cold one. “He did the first time.” She pauses. “And the second.”

Koltira sighs, “Maybe. But he wasn’t an Illidari the first time, and the second time she wasn’t exactly picky.”

Taveth lowers his brow and finishes his drink in several swallows. “Who wants to put money on it?” The pink at the tips of his ears gives away his slipping into a buzz.

The mage hums and taps her chin. “I’ll put one hundred gold on Grim. Twenty-four hours.” She sips her wine.

“One hundred on Ali. I’m sure fifty years from when she thinks it is and when I met her didn’t change that she’s a stubborn bitch,” Koltira says, emptying his glass, then refilling it.

Taveth purses his lips down at the death knight. “I wouldn’t say _that_, but she did have an attitude. One hundred on Ali.” He then says under his breath, “Regardless of my ulterior motives.” He goes to drink from his glass, but finds it empty. “Well, fiddlesticks.”

Anarchaia lifts her eyebrows and snorts a laugh into her cup. “A bet it is, then.” She waves over the busy maid again and motions at Taveth with a thumb. “More of what he had. Just bring a bottle. Yes, thank you.” She smiles up at Taveth. “_Fiddlesticks,_” she repeats. “I’ve not even heard Master say that.”

Taveth narrows his eyes over his crooked smile. “Are you _judging_ me?” He pokes her in the nose.

Koltira chuckles into his own glass. “Lightweight.”

Anarchaia flinches then narrows her eyes and returns the favor. “And if I am? I doubt you’ll do anything about it.” She laughs.

Taveth casually grips the top of the mage’s mask. “Oh, I won’t?”

Alisbeth smiles smugly. “If more than one person says it, then it must be true.”

Grimory’s jaw flexes as he does his best to hold back his words. “No. _I’m not that kind of girl._ I’ve heard that before.” He avoids looking at her. “Was never a hindrance.”

Alisbeth sneers in disgust. “Wow. Do you even listen to yourself? Excuse me, I have to go wash this skeevy feeling off. Maybe _you_ should try a cold shower.” She stands and goes to the stairs, cocking one eyebrow at Taveth holding the woman’s mask; he grins back at her.

Anarchaia’s hand reflexively grabs his wrist and her smile fades as quickly as it’d come. “Okay, I’m sorry. Just please don’t.”

Grimory furrows his brow as he realizes her meaning, then gives a scoff. “Not what I meant,” he says again and runs a hand over his hair. “I miss old Ali. She wasn’t a pompous prude.”

Alisbeth seethes in front of the door of her room for a moment before flopping onto the bed to stare at the ceiling.

Taveth releases the mask. “I would _never_. Oh, would you look at that. Didn’t even take twenty-four hours.” Taveth casts a wide, innocent smile at Grimory as the maid hands him a new glass of wine and sets the bottle on the table.

Koltira smirks triumphantly at Grimory. “Aww. Afraid of a little effort? Don’t like girls who don’t throw their undergarments at you as you pass?” He nudges Anarchaia. “You gonna pay up or do you think miracles really, truly do happen?”

“I said twenty-four hours!” she hisses at him and purses her lips. “That was the bet.”

Grimory notices Taveth’s grin and lifts his empty mug in cheers, face still telling of his irritation. He gives Koltira, however, the finger. “Trust me. It didn’t take so much effort the first time. Much like it didn’t take much effort for you to toss her aside.”

Koltira narrows his eyes. “You shouldn’t speak of things you know nothing about.” He casts his gaze to Taveth. “Two hundred.”

Taveth absently picks at an invisible string on his trouser leg. “You know, Grim, maybe you should just let her go… Explore other, less prudish options…” He shrugs and smirks into his cup.

Grimory hides his anger. “If you’re such an expert on the subject, perhaps you should go try,” he says to Koltira with a smirk. He regards Taveth. “And I’ve clearly no other option at this point, do I?”

Anarchaia busies herself with her wine glass and shrinks into her seat as though not listening.

Koltira puts his arm over the mage’s shoulders. “I would, but I made my choice.”

A blush colors Taveth’s cheeks and he looks away, trying to hide it.

Grimory resists another scoff and lifts his feet up onto the table. “Regardless, we should find a way to get her back. Thoughts?”

Anarchaia thinks for a long moment and shrugs. “I don’t think there is a way,” she says, downing her wine and folding her arms after setting down the glass. “I could go look in the library.” She looks up at Koltira and grins. “We could go to Acherus again.”

Koltira chuckles. “You just want to see Fester again.”

Anarchaia flushes and sips her wine. “He was cute. Can I take him home?”

Koltira chuckles at the mage. “I don’t think so.”

The mage pouts. “I just hope people are buying stuff from him. I still have the parchment he sold me.” She suddenly scowls. “If I ever hear anything happened to that precious ghoul I will raze Acherus.”

Koltira laughs harder. “I’m sure he’s fine. But if you insist on checking… How are we going to get you in this time?”

Anarchaia pulls off her mask to reveal Koltira’s face beneath, snow white hair spilling over her shoulders. “Do you think they’d notice?” she says with a laugh.

Koltira shakes his head. “I think they might grow suspicious when two of me walk in.”

Anarchaia hums as she throws her mask back over her face. “I think I’ll just peruse the Hall library instead,” she says with a shrug.

Koltira gives a small pout. “You mean I have to go back to that floating coffin alone?”

Anarchaia runs a finger up the length of the death knight’s arm and tilts her head. “Why do you have to go back? Will Mograine get jealous?”

Taveth ponders the question, slowly sipping the wine as a continuous flow into his mouth. He takes the glass away and swallows. “We could maybe ask Khadgar if he’s got a book in Karazhan that could help.”

Grimory laughs into his still empty mug. “Unless you’re Ana or he owes you something, he’s not gonna do a thing you say.”

Taveth frowns. “You never know.”

Grimory gives a curt shrug and shakes his foot in thought. “What are we going to tell Diori?”

Taveth ignores the two making plans of infiltrating the death knight ziggurat. He sighs and folds his arms. “If we can fix it, we don’t tell her anything. If not… I’m sure she’ll understand if we explain it right. She already knows how delicate Ali’s mind is.” Taveth moves to sit a distance from Grimory on the large couch. He clutches his wine in his hands and stares down into the crimson of it. “What about _you_? You seemed rather fond of her. If she doesn’t return to the present are you just going to…give up?”

Grimory interlaces his fingers behind his head and sighs. He thinks for a moment before shrugging. “I may as well, yeah? Clearly I’m not her type anymore.” He brings in the side of his lower lip to chew on. “I’m not the polite, helpful farm boy I was.”

Taveth sighs and rubs at his neck. He downs his wine and stares at his feet. “You know what? I just realized I don’t want to get involved.” He rubs the glass between his palms nervously. “I can’t look at this from an objective perspective.” The strange dream of the stolen kiss enters his mind and he jumps, the glass slipping from his hands.

“That sounds like a smart idea.” Grimory inhales to say more, but instead lurches across the couch with an outstretched arm to catch the glass before it can hit the hard-wood floor. He gives a sigh of relief and sets it on the table in front of Taveth before pushing himself back up. “I think you’ve had enough, friend.”

“Not nearly as much as I need. Heh.” He fidgets, then looks across the coffee table. “Ana,” he gets the mage’s attention. <<Save me.>>

She turns at the sound of her name. “U-uh. Grim!” She stands and pulls the demon hunter to his feet before he can answer. She pushes him toward the staircase. “Go get Ali to come back down here. And apologize for being an ass to her.”

Grimory scowls as he’s pushed, then does as he’s told anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Stop pushing. I’m going.” He climbs the stairs until he reaches the door and hesitates for a long minute before knocking lightly.

Koltira cocks an eyebrow up at the mage. “To find a book, I thought?”

Taveth sighs up at the mage. “Thank you…so much.” He stands and hugs the mage. “I need more to drink until nothing bothers me.”

Anarchaia chuckles at Koltira as she turns back. “Oh. I didn’t actually expect you to say yes to that idea.” She stiffens as she’s hugged, then brings up her hands to pat Taveth on his shoulder blades. “No problem, Tav. Though I imagine there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to help deal with him.” She strolls over to take up her seat again and pour more wine.

The high elf sighs as he drops back to the couch. “You know what? Forget it. You don’t want her changed back,” Taveth points at the mage, then at the death knight, “you don’t care either way—or at least you shouldn’t. You don’t, right? Because that would be awkward if you did care, I mean, Ana is _right_ there, so I won’t ask, but—”

“Tav, Tav, stop,” Koltira says, holding out a hand. “Why are you so worked up about it? Just calm down. Here.” He holds out his glass with a swallow of whiskey inside.

Taveth takes the glass and chokes the contents down. “Th-thanks. Heh.”

Anarchaia stops drinking as a finger is pointed at her but keeps the cup to her lips as though pretending to drink exempts her from speaking. “Frankly, no,” she finally says after swallowing. “I don’t want her back.”

Koltira purses his lips and sighs out through his nose. He pours a new drink to swallow quickly.

Taveth smirks. “Kel’ori will be so mad.” He smooths his hair back. “Wonder how long it’ll take Grim to give up.”

Anarchaia gives a snort of a laugh. “Giving up isn’t something he’s very good at. I’ve never really seen him accept defeat if he feels there’s still a chance.”

Taveth frowns. “I suppose that’s a g-good…quality.”

Koltira snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

Taveth eyes him. “I… What?”

Anarchaia bumps her knee against Koltira’s without looking at him. “Nothing. I—” She pauses and looks at Taveth with a grin. <<You don’t want them back together.>>

<<Is it really so stupid a dream?>> He refills his glass—a little too full—and begins drinking. His ears and cheeks darken every minute.

Koltira leans back in his seat. “Oh. We’re doing this again. Don’t mind me.”

Anarchaia gives Koltira a sympathetic glance and has a moment of turmoil before sighing. “Tav, Kolt knows.”

Taveth pales, then reddens. “Y-you told him?”

“No, you whisper loud when you’re drunk.”

Taveth’s mouth drops open. “D-does Grim— Did he—”

Anarchaia shakes her head. “If he does he’s made no implications of it.” She sips her wine and smiles. “And no, it’s not bad to dream. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Taveth shakes his head. “But…it’s not like…” He takes a drink, flustered. “I-it’s hard to explain.”

Anarchaia blinks. “Is it like a…_if I can’t have him, no one can_ type of thing?”

Taveth blinks rapidly at her. “No, no, nothing like that. I _know_ it’s not even in a realm of possibilities.” He gives the mage a kind smile. “Most likely to remain alone forever.” He brings his arm up to point down at the top of his head. “At least I’ve got my books… and Thal… Gods help me.”


	9. Chapter 9

Alisbeth cracks the door to peek out. She scoffs. “Oh. It’s you.” She closes the door on him.

Grimory sighs and deflates as the door shuts in his face. “I’m sorry,” he says in hopes she’s still listening on the other side. “I’m sure this is difficult for you but…” He lowers his voice. “It’s difficult for me, too.”

Alisbeth rips the door open to purse her lips at him. She puts a hand on her hip. “We’re not together, you said. Then you tried to get me drunk so I’d whore around with you. You really don’t seem like a good person. So, I don’t know if I even want you anywhere around me.”

Grimory furrows his brow and straightens again. “Whore—? No. I wanted you to drink so maybe you’d have some fun. You just seem so uptight and, I don’t know, I figured you could use it. And no, we aren’t _together_, but I…care about you a lot, okay?” He sighs. “Can you see this from my perspective?”

Alisbeth purses her lips and tunes out the rest of his speech as she zeroes in on one word. Her nostrils flair and her eyes narrow. “Uptight?”

Grimory runs his tongue over his lips. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. I meant it in a _stressed-out_ kind of way.”

Alisbeth sneers incredulously. “How astute. Really, bravo. _Hello_, I woke up in the worst nightmare of a future imaginable with some sad puppy trying to hump my leg. How would _you_ feel?”

Grimory scowls and folds his arms. “I’m not trying to fuck you. I’m trying to get the mother of my daughter back. Even so, by all means, continue being annoyed by my attraction to you.”

Alisbeth rolls her eyes and goes to sit on the bed. “And _forcing_ me is going to work?” She puts her face in her hands. “And Tirion…”

Grimory steps inside and gently closes the door. “I’m not trying to force anything. And…for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Tirion. I know that’s hard to hear.”

Alisbeth shakes her head, but says nothing.

Grimory clenches his fists and makes his way to her. He sets a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “I know I’m an asshole. But I’m here if you need to talk with someone about it.”

Alisbeth wipes her eyes and gives him a small smile. “Thanks, but unless things have changed, talking doesn’t bring him back.” She wipes tears from her chin. “Do you know where they buried him? Can I visit him?”

Grimory sets himself beside her and shakes his head. “I don’t know where, but I can find out. We could go there.”

Alisbeth stutters a small laugh. “I’d like that.” She uses her palms to wipe all the wetness from her face and breathes deep to stop crying. “See, it didn’t kill you to not be pushy.”

Grimory forces a small smile. “I’m kind of impatient, admittedly. Sorry.” He sighs and stands. “I’ll leave you be, though. I’m sure you’d like some time to grieve.”

Alisbeth nods. “I’d like that, thank you.”

The demon hunter gives a small wave and takes his leave, closing the door behind him. “Guess it’s my cot tonight. Been a while.” He makes his way downstairs.

~ * ~

Anarchaia frowns. “Oh, Tav,” she sighs. “You’ll find someone. I know you will.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Taveth chuckles and stares at nothing for a moment. He takes a drink and sighs as the alcohol loosens his tongue. “Shame. He’s a great kisser.” He jolts, realizing he’d said it out loud. “Probably. Maybe. Not that it matters.”

Anarchaia’s eyes widen and her smile returns. She leans forward. “_He kissed you?!_ When? Where?”

Koltira smirks and takes sudden interest in the conversation. “Grim? No…”

Taveth swallows a mouthful of wine. “It was a dream, okay? Just some alcohol fueled imagining caused by you people goading me to it that night.” He gives a small giggle. “Not that it was a b—” He slaps his hand over his mouth as Grimory comes down the stairs.

Grimory gives the three a tired, suspicious glance. “Talking about me?” he half jokes as he approaches.

Anarchaia gives a nervous titter. “No. Swapping weird dream stories. Care to join?”

Grimory takes up his spot at the end of the couch again and puts up a foot. “I don’t dream often. When I do, though, I’m usually at some sort of large event. I’m naked and no one seems to notice but me.” He shrugs. “Among other things.”

Koltira laughs. “I had one where I was tied up in a cage in an Amani encampment—prisoner of war type thing. And, uhh…they kept making me eat live amphibians and grass.” He cringes and takes a drink. “I was never more thankful I wasn’t stationed in the front lines.”

Taveth scratches at the side of his neck and gives a small laugh at the death knight’s dream.

Grimory gives a light chuckle. “There are certainly worse things to eat, yeah?” He gives Anarchaia an expectant look.

The mage returns the glance, then jumps as she realizes. “O-oh! Uh…at the risk of sounding edgy and cliché, I’d rather not talk about what I dream about. Heh.” She sips at her drink.

“Oh. Right. Undead stuff,” Grimory says with a tone of realization. He glances at Taveth. “Lemme guess. Books?”

Taveth wipes his sweaty palm over the thigh of his pants. “Uhh…”

“You know,” Koltira interrupts, “I think I _would_ like to hear what you dream about. I haven’t slept since I died, maybe it’ll provide some sort of insight.” He smiles at Anarchaia, but slips a quick wink to Taveth.

Anarchaia furrows her brow up at the death knight and fiddles with her cup. “U-Uhm. Just…depressing things. Like dying. My father forcing my own eyeball down my throat over and over again while screaming that it’s my fault. Flower petals floating in pools of blood. I don’t know.” She sips her wine again. “Typical girl things. Heh.”

Grimory returns his attention to Anarchaia and swallows. After a moment he hails the barmaid for one more drink.

Koltira takes a drink, nodding absently as his face becomes blank with mild regret for asking. “I’m sorry.”

Taveth cringes and looks at the floor. “I am so so so…so so sorry, Ana. So sorry.”

Anarchaia grits her teeth. “Please stop feeling badly for me,” she groans. “I do that enough alone.”

Grimory takes a long drink of his ale. “So Karazhan. Anything interesting happen on your little learning excursion?”

Koltira smirks. “We had a few good fights. Ana disabled a _huge_ guardian construct. Taveth fell in a hole.” He takes a drink and thinks. “Oh, and that whole incident where we were the size of insects and Tav nearly died. But then he realized we were in the library and like magic he woke right up.”

Taveth scoffs. “It wasn’t the _library_ that woke me up! It was _Ana_.”

Koltira chuckles and says, with heavy innuendo, “Yes, Ana and her magic hands.”

Grimory catches Anarchaia’s eye and smirks at the vernacular. “Oh? Almost upset I wasn’t invited, now.” He snorts. “_Almost._”

Anarchaia flushes and gives an uncomfortable titter. “I didn’t disable it. Merely stunned it. And it wasn’t _just_ me. It was…other things. That woke Tav. We played dress up, though. That was fun. You both were so handsome.” She grins.

“Disappointment fading,” Grimory drones.

“It was actually kind of fun,” Koltira says. “A lot more fun than sitting in a coffee shop talking all day.”

Grimory lifts his brows. “Is that what you assume I did all day? I have a life, you know.”

“I wasn’t talking about _just_ you,” Koltira says, frustrated.

Taveth fidgets. “Heh, I rather like the sitting around not falling into spider nests.” He clears his throat and glances at Anarchaia and then Grimory. <<Ana met the boys,>> he says in Eredun. <<Apparently she smells _really_ bad to them.>>

“Sorry for assuming everything passive aggressive that comes out of your mouth is directed at me,” Grimory says with a shrug. He gives Taveth a sideways glance, then laughs heartily. <<And I’m sure you don’t mean her perfume, yeah?>>

Anarchaia shoots Grimory a scowl.

Koltira rolls his eyes and busies himself with his drink and anything to avoid acknowledging the demon hunter is there.

Taveth laughs. “She thought they were going to hurt me and came charging in illusioned as you. They could smell the mage all over her.” Taveth laughs a little harder. “I forgot to say that in Eredun.”

Anarchaia’s eyes widen slightly and she reaches over to kick the high elf in the leg. “Don’t tell him that!” she hisses.

Grimory lifts his brows in interest once more. He looks between the two. “Oh? And why would she do that?”

Taveth’s entire body jerks in a flinch. He checks to make sure he didn’t spill any wine, then frowns. “Sorry, Ana.”

<<You incriminate yourself,>> she says in Gutterspeak, then clears her throat. “It was just a prank. Didn’t work out, sadly.” She sips her wine and gives Koltira a sideways look to ensure he didn’t hear about the demons.

Taveth looks around, confused. <<I— I— What? How? Why? I didn’t-…>>

<<You’re saying things that will make them ask questions.>> She sighs. “So how was your day, Grim?” she continues with a forced smile.

“Oh,” the demon hunter responds, “it wasn’t too exciting. Took Diori and Ali for breakfast—well, mostly Diori. Then dropped her off with Kel’ori for lessons. Then had some stuff to do back in Mardum. Came back and next thing I know your goblin bud is looking for me. Wanted me to come get Ali.”

A smile flutters on and off from Taveth’s lips. “Heh. Sounds like a nice day to me.”

Koltira finishes his glass and, realizing the bottle is empty, sets the glass on the table. “I’ll be back,” he says. He kisses the side of Anarchaia’s head and stands, then goes up the stairs.

The mage gives Koltira a smile before he departs, then turns back to the others. “Do you leave Ali unattended a lot?” she asks with a head tilt. “Because that’s worrisome.”

“No,” Grimory says with an unimpressed scowl. “Even so, that’s not particularly my job, is it? You’re technically her guardian. Not that I believe she needs one.”

“She’s a grown woman,” Taveth says. “Most of the time.” He takes a drink and smiles shyly, not looking at either. “Haven’t been any incidents thus far. Besides, this happened in the shower.”

“I’m not about to let her just go do as she pleases,” Anarchaia says. “There’d be no more Forsaken left in the city.” She drinks the last of her wine.

“I…am inclined to believe that,” Grimory responds coolly.

Taveth shrugs and occupies himself with his drink. “Grim clearly doesn’t like babysitting.” He slouches and breathes out. “I should be doing my research.”

The undead woman gives Taveth a sympathetic smile. “Drunk research?”

Grimory narrows his eyes at the man. “It’s not _babysitting_. I actually _want_ to spend time with her, you know.” His eyes flick to the stairwell. “And I’m apparently not alone in the fact,” he mumbles so that Anarchaia cannot hear.

Taveth glances where the demon hunter’s eyes look. He scoffs and makes a face. “What’s so special about her?” He mutters under his breath. He frowns and casts a long look at Grimory, completely forgetting the mage has spoken.

Grimory’s ear pulls back at Taveth’s words and he gives him a curious and confused stare. “That’s…an odd thing to say. Do you really want me to answer that?”

Anarchaia clenches her jaw and again acts busy as though she’s not listening.

Taveth jolts and turns to look elsewhere. “I don’t— I just— I’m— I-I… You…” He finishes his half glass of wine in several quick swallows. “I’m sure she’s a delight. Ignore me. Heh.” He twitches and smiles at the mage. “So, Ana, the picture. May I have a copy?”

Anarchaia returns the smile. “Yes, of course.” She bites her lip and looks at Grimory though does not turn toward him. “So Grim. Taveth had a dream about you. Isn’t that funny?”

The demon hunter knits his brow thoughtfully and again looks at Taveth. “That is. I had one about him, too. What was yours about?”

“_Anaaaaaa,_” Taveth hisses. “Nothing, heh. I-it was just stupid. I-I— Wait, you had one about…” His already pink cheeks darken.

Anarchaia shrugs and grins, pouring more wine.

“You were completely trashed and I was waking you home,” Grimory begins as he leans back in his seat.

The mage stops pouring and looks up, bottle still in hand.

A tint of color touches his cheeks. “And just as we reached your district, you kissed me.” He laughs. “I’m only now realizing how ridiculous this sounds.”

All color, save that of his intoxication, leaves Taveth’s face. His eyes widen across at Anarchaia. Once his gaze flicks to Grimory, color returns as a blush floods his face. He swallows and clears his throat. “That’s…odd.”

Anarchaia purses her lips tightly to hold back her smile. “Yes. Uh…_queer_, even.”

Grimory laughs again. “Right? So, what was yours about? Can’t possibly be as strange as mine.”

The high elf makes a faint noise of panic. “It was the same one. To the last detail,” he squeaks, barely audible.

Koltira returns with Alisbeth in tow.

She eyes the two on the couch and chews on the inside of her lip. He pushes her forward and she grumbles, then drops onto the couch between Taveth and Grimory. “Hey, Tav. Hello again, Grimory.”

Grimory’s chuckling stops abruptly but his grin remains as he stares with an incredulous demeanor until Alisbeth separates them. “H-hey,” he mutters, face scarlet.

Anarchaia drains half her glass in one drink and covers her lips with the back of a wrist. _Oh my gods._

Koltira leans over to whisper to Anarchaia while he watches the red-faced Taveth shove himself deeper into the couch, a look on his face as though the elf hopes it might swallow him. “Why do those two look like they bit into a dalapeño?”

“Taveth _actually_ kissed Grim. They had the same dream,” she whispers as quietly as possible without laughing. When she realizes their close proximity, however, she purses her lips and sits upright once again, cup to her mouth.

Koltira doesn’t even try to hide his entertainment over the news. He laughs outright. “I somehow feel complete. Oh, Grim’s face.” He covers his mouth to laugh into his palm.

Alisbeth gives Grimory a tentative smile. “I’ll have that drink, now.” Her gaze flicks to the strange color and frozen expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

Grimory stammers for a moment before smiling at Alisbeth. “Y-yeah. Peachy. What do you prefer?” He lifts a finger for the waitress and she obliges. “Wine?”

Alisbeth rubs her arm. “I don’t know what any of them taste like. Tav, were you drinking wine? Is it good?”

The high elf responds to her in a series of mumbles, which she is incapable of interpreting.

Grimory clears his throat. “The house red,” he says to the barmaid who nods with a smile and goes to retrieve it. “So why the Light?” he says, doing his best to not sound desperate over the subject change.

Alisbeth shrugs. “Father wanted me to be a warrior, like him. Mother wanted me to be a priestess, like her. I wanted to swing a sword, though—my father’s sword. She convinced me to learn about paladins and…it stuck. What about you? What is it that you do?”

Grimory gives a genuine, tired smile. “How admirable.” He laughs at the question aimed at him and hands over her glass of wine as it’s given to him. “I hunt demons.”

Alisbeth raises an eyebrow. “But you’re half demon.”

Grimory shrugs and gives another, quieter chuckle. “Fight fire with fire, right? Green fire, more specifically.”

<<So what were you two talking about?>> the mage says in Gutterspeak after swallowing another mouthful, the alcohol feeding her fearlessness.

Koltira shrugs. <<I just let her talk. She did that thing to me…again. Read me like a book. Then I told her we’re _all_ her friends and we just want to enjoy her company.>>

<<Yes, she’s so quirky,>> Anarchaia mumbles into her wine, eyes half lidded with annoyance.

Koltira’s eyelids lower. “Ana…” He takes her wine glass from her fingers and pulls her to her feet. “Come on.”

Anarchaia holds onto the glass for as long as she’s able to before it’s easily pulled from her grasp. She pouts as she’s pulled. “Why? Where are we going?”

“Well, since you can’t seem to play nice, no matter what. We’re going away from them.” He takes her hand to lead her from the tavern.

Taveth stands abruptly. “Where are you going? Don’t—” He glances at the two on the couch. <<Don’t leave me here alone!>> he says in Dwarvish.

Anarchaia bristles some but dedicates more of her effort to standing straight. “I play nice!” She turns toward Taveth and grimaces before motioning for him to follow.

Grimory’s gaze flicks to Taveth. _Yes. Please go._ He smiles back at Alisbeth. “So, do you have any hobbies other than swinging a sword around? Perhaps you could show me sometime.”

Taveth wordlessly follows the other two.

Koltira purses his lips at their new third wheel. “Ana, you might seem to be playing nice, but you’re not. So, I guess the solution would be to keep you away from Ali for about…the rest of time.”

The high elf backs away from the two as he realizes why they left.


	10. Chapter 10

Alisbeth cocks her eyebrow as everyone leaves. “Why do I get the feeling nobody actually likes me?”

“That’s just Ana,” Grimory says in a nonchalant tone. “Neurotic when she drinks. Don’t mind her.”

Alisbeth frowns. “I’d hoped one day people would actually like me, but I can tell they like me even less. Why do I stay?”

Grimory’s smile finally fades. “We do like you. Why do you think we’d try to get you to come down if we didn’t want to spend time with you?”

Alisbeth purses her lips and runs her finger along the lip of the glass she has yet to drink from. “Actually… Koltira threatened to stay in my room and sing his favorite drinking songs until I came down. He got one line out. Don’t let Koltira sing.”

The corner of Grimory’s lips twitches. “He and I aren’t exactly buddies so I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Perhaps you should warn Ana, though. Those two are virtually connected at the hip.”

Alisbeth frowns. “Why not? You seem like you’d have so much in common.” She takes a sip of the wine and purses her lips at it, then sets it on the table as she’d done the moonberry juice.

Grimory sneers. “What makes you say that?” He watches her face. “Would you like something else?”

Alisbeth shrugs and plays with her fingertips. “I can’t really taste it. Just…vinegar and dirt with a hint of berries.”

Grimory knits his brow, seemingly befuddled by his own inability to remember such a minute detail. “Oh yeah,” he says, hailing the maid again. “You used to order this drink whenever we were out.” He places the order and the waitress returns moments later with a dark bottle of whiskey and a glass with rolls of fresh cinnamon sticking over the top.

Alisbeth looks at the items and raises an eyebrow as far up as it will go. “I don’t understand.” Her hands stretch forward anyway, taking the cinnamon sticks and pressing them until they shatter into long twigs which slip easily into the narrow bottle opening. She stops and stares at it for a moment. “Wait, why did I do that?”

Grimory chuckles. “Muscle memory maybe? Now put the cork back in and give it a shake.” He points at her practically full glass of wine. “Do you plan to finish that?”

Alisbeth does as she’s told and makes a face. “Why would I drink something if it tastes heinous?” She purses her lips at the bottle after a few good shakes. “How long do I shake this?”

Grimory shrugs and takes the wine. “Never stopped me any.” He drinks it and sets the glass aside. “That should be good. Just drink it out of the bottle, though.”

Alisbeth takes a sip through pinched lips to keep the sticks at bay. She smacks her lips and furrows her brow. “This is good. You want some?”

Grimory gives a small smirk and shrugs a shoulder. “Sure, why not.” He takes a shot’s worth into his mouth and hands the bottle back, then furrows his brow as he swallows. “That’s some harsh whiskey,” he coughs.

Alisbeth frowns and looks down at her hands. “If I ask you something…will you tell me the absolute truth, no matter what?”

The demon hunter swallows and looks at her face for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Anything.”

She chews on the inside of her lip and looks into his eyes. “Am… Am I dead?”

Grimory’s face falls into one of pain and turmoil. He sighs. “Technically, yes.”

Alisbeth’s frown deepens. “I’m what Koltira is? How did I die?”

Grimory sighs again and puts his palms over his face. “Yes. You were murdered by some forsaken.”

Alisbeth tilts her head to the side, her eyes searching the air for an answer to the question she’s about to ask. “What’s a forsaken?”

Grimory lets his hands fall back into his lap. “Undead people. Skeletal fingers and missing jaws and such. Risen soldiers of the Lich King.”

“Um… Who?” Alisbeth asks. She takes another, longer pull from the bottle.

Grimory laughs quietly. “That’s not really important. A man—or thing, rather—worth forgetting.” He raises his eyebrows as she downs the whiskey like water. “Anything else I can help with?”

Alisbeth shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe something will come along that I’m unsure about.”

Grimory nods and glances at the door as he finishes the wine. “Do you remember your horse at all?”

Alisbeth smiles. “Bloodmane? She’s in the stables— Oh.” She deflates and takes a drink. “I don’t know how long ago it was, but I know she is gone by now. If only horses could live forever.”

Grimory smiles at the memory. “Yeah. She was a beautiful horse. She was…kind of how we met. Fifty years ago. She’s actually still around. Just…also undead.”

Alisbeth furrows her brow, but smiles. “She is? That’s…terrible, but also makes me happy. Fifty years… We’ve been together—no, we’re not together. We’ve been…friends for fifty years?” She laughs lightly and takes a drink. “Your first impression was awful, but…if this is how you normally are, I could see being friends.”

~ * ~

The mage scowls, suddenly wishing she’d not let him take her drink. “That’s not possible. I have to supervise her. I’m responsible. She could revert at any second.” She clenches her fists. “And now I’m responsible for everyone’s bad time and Master’s disappointment in me and _your_ disappointment in me and this city’s hatred for me and…and…” She grits her teeth and pulls her mask down to hide her face.

Koltira yanks her mask up to cover her lips with his fingertips. “Ana, stop. I’m not disappointed in you and you’re not responsible for anyone having a bad time.”

Taveth nods and scoots closer. “He’s right. I wasn’t having a bad time, I was just wondering how I could best disappear and never be seen again. This works. Thank you, Ana. I’m going to go kill myself now.” He smiles with all the panicked distress in the world, and turns to leave.

“I-I know I’m not—…” Anarchaia swallows and parts her lips to say more then turns as Taveth turns. “We can make him forget.” She pauses. “O-or you. If that’s better.”

Taveth pauses. “You can do that? Please do that. Both. Both is good. Like it never happened, heh.” He tugs on the sleeve of her robes. “Please. I just…I’ll never be able to face him otherwise.”

Koltira gives a sly smirk. “What if Grim enjoyed it? Shouldn’t go taking away memories he’s good with having. Ask him, first.”

Taveth frowns. “_I guess,_” he growls. “I’ll be in the—”

“Nope.” Koltira grabs onto the back of the elf’s shirt collar and holds on. “Gotta face your problems sometime.”

Anarchaia can’t help but smile some at Taveth’s expense. She wipes at her eye and chortles. “Milhouse made a potion that erases memories—though I’m sure that’s not what he intended to brew. Sadly, it requires the imbiber to be thinking of the memory they want to erase while drinking…and the materials are expensive. Heh.”

Taveth groans dramatically. “Of _course_ it’s expensive. You think _research_ pays? My father won’t help, I promise you that.” He flails momentarily, trying to escape the death knight’s grasp. After a moment, he gives up and deflates.

Koltira raises his eyebrow. “What is with you two and your woeful dispositions after drinking?” He gives Anarchaia a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, let’s go face our demons.”

“I can pull some strings for you. Maybe. Manastorm is pretty illusive.” She flinches at the kiss but smiles all the same. “Heh. Demons.” She looks back at Taveth. “I think you two should just talk. Clear the air.”

Taveth flails again. “Nope. Can’t face him. Can’t do that. No clearing the air. Just avoiding for the rest of my life.” He slaps at the Koltira’s hand; the death knight only chuckles, his fist holding fast.

Anarchaia chortles again and swats at Koltira’s hand. “Let the poor man go. Oh! I know. We could do some roleplaying. I’ll be Grim and you can confess your feelings for me.” She laughs.

Koltira gives Taveth a small shake as he laughs. “Come on, confess to the woma—Illidari…in a robe…” His eyes go wide. “Wait, Ana, do that thing. Be Grim.”

Taveth squirms until he’s free from the death knight’s hand. “You, sir, are a bully.”

“I’m not a bully, Tav. I just… Don’t take the memory charm, okay?”

His eyes slide left and right, then he narrows them. “Why?” he asks slowly.

“What if you think of the wrong memory and you lose Diori or Ali? What if you lose _you_, Taveth?” Koltira sets a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder and holds his gaze for a long time.

Anarchaia lifts her brows and nods in an understanding manner. She lifts a hand and her form is shrouded in a cloud of smoke and sparkles. When it dissipates, a perfect image of Grimory stands in her place, cheeks pink with intoxication, tattoos glowing, and arms folded over her broad chest. She gives Taveth a curious and expectant look.

Taveth squirms and looks away from Anarchaia. He mumbles something.

Koltira laughs again. “I think we should go somewhere more private.”

Anarchaia gives another nod and grabs Taveth by his upper arm. She pulls the man down an alley and into an empty clearing behind the taverns and shops. The street lamp above flickers. “Better?”

“No,” Taveth whines at the ground.

“How do you even function in society?” Koltira asks.

Taveth shrugs. “I don’t. I spend all of my time at the library.”

Anarchaia laughs Grimory’s hearty, low laugh and folds her arms again. “C’mon, Tav. I won’t bite.” She grins. “Unless that’s what you’re into.”

Taveth jumps and practically hides behind Koltira. “I’m not ‘into’ anything. I don’t like this! Let me go.”

Koltira shakes his head. “Nope. Face your demons.”

Taveth straightens and pokes a finger at him. “My demons would flatten you.”

“I…don’t… What?”

Anarchaia sighs. “It’s all right. I know exactly what he’d say in any situation. Just try, yeah?” She gives an encouraging, fangy smile.

Taveth pouts and folds his arms over his chest as Koltira moves him to stare at Anarchaia. “It was… I was…completing the dare. That’s all.”

Anarchaia tilts her head and pulls her ears back. “I…suppose that’s admirable. Why alone, though?”

“I was…scared,” Taveth says, never looking at her as he fidgets.

“Scared of what? People making fun of you? That’s kind of how the game works.”

The high elf deflates. “I can’t say it, Ana.”

Anarchaia sighs and sets a hand on Taveth’s shoulder. “I suppose that’s understandable,” she says in her own voice and morphs again into herself. “It took Koltira being murdered for me to say it to him. Heh. I don’t blame you.”

Koltira wraps his arm over Anarchaia’s shoulders. “I don’t think he exactly wants to profess his _love_ to Grim.”

Taveth jumps in shock and shakes his head. “Nonononono, not _that_, no.”

Anarchaia gives a sort of shrug. “Attraction, love, lust. All horses in the same corral, no?”

“I guess,” Taveth says.

“Ready to confront the real deal?” Koltira smiles encouragingly.

Taveth merely whines.

Anarchaia leads the men back down the alley. “Besides, what’s the worst that could possibly happen? He won’t get mad. He won’t hate you. He won’t _kill you_,” she explains as they walk.

Koltira chuckles. “If he kills you, I’ll bring you back, okay?”

Taveth grumbles under his breath.

Anarchaia stops at the entrance to the lounge. “Would you like me to fetch him? Or would you like to?”

Taveth’s eyes widen and he turns around to walk swiftly in the other direction. Koltira lurches forward and grabs him by the back of the shirt. He drags him back to Anarchaia.

“I think he needs some liquid courage.”

Anarchaia laughs. “I thought he’d had enough but perhaps more is in order.” She grabs Taveth by the wrist and pulls him back into the lounge.

Grimory acknowledges the trio with a glance as they enter and smiles back at Alisbeth. “Actually, we knew one another for a, uh, few hours back then. Then I became this and was imprisoned in a crystal for ten years. We happened upon each other again a few months ago.” He clears his throat. “I looked for you, though.”

Taveth stands paralyzed, his feet moving only when he is dragged by the two trying to get him to sit down.

“I’ll get us another round,” Koltira says. He looks down at Grimory, an amused smile flicks across his face, though he tries to fight it back down. “Get you anything? Whiskey? Gin? Hemlock?”

“You’d like that, I’m sure,” the demon hunter responds with a sarcastic smile. “No, I think I’m good for now. Thanks anyway.”

Anarchaia sets Taveth down beside her on the adjacent couch and pulls up her mask to smile at him. <<What if he liked it?>> she titters in Gutterspeak.

Taveth thinks for a moment, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks over at how comfortable Alisbeth and Grimory look, sitting together, as usual. <<Doesn’t matter, does it?>>

Koltira shrugs. “It’s not about what _I_ like,” he says after picking up on the Gutterspeak conversation behind him. “It’s about what _you_ like.”

Alisbeth gives him a long look. “Why would he _like_ hemlock?”

Koltira shrugs and heads to the bar.

Grimory narrows an eye. “Why is what I want suddenly so important?”

Alisbeth turns her attention on the other two. “I’m so sorry if I did something wrong that made you leave, I didn’t do it on purpose, I’m just not likeable. That’s what my instructors always said, is that I’m just not a likable person. So, I’m sorry.” She gives a nervous smile.

Anarchaia’s smile toward Taveth grows sad. She opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted by Alisbeth. “O-oh. No worries, heh. I’m just…rude. It’s not you.” She grits her teeth and smiles wider. “Definitely not you.”

Koltira sits on the other side of Alisbeth after ordering the drinks. He eyes the bottle in her hand. “Oh, he talked you into _really_ drinking.”

Alisbeth nods her head at the mage, gritting her own teeth and not believing a word she’s saying. She turns to Koltira, subconsciously moving slightly closer to Grimory and away from the death knight. She purses her lips. “He said no one would patronize me.”

Koltira puts his hands up in surrender and slides all the way to the end of the couch. “Just making conversation.”

Taveth gently elbows the undead in the ribs. “Don’t say that.” He throws his arm around behind her back to squeeze her arms to her sides and gives her an odd hug. “You’re one of the nicest people I know, Ana. And that’s why I know that you’re not going to force me to do anything that compromises my own personal comfort, right, _friend Ana_?”

Anarchaia bites back a laugh at the tickling elbow to her ribs, then stiffens within the hug. She resists a sigh and leans over. <<If you don’t, I will.>>

Taveth’s smile drops. <<You wouldn’t.>>

Grimory gives a soft laugh and grabs the glass of water beside him. “I don’t think he was patronizing you. Just surprised.”

Alisbeth relaxes some and purses her lips at Koltira. “Well then, I’m sorry.”

The barmaid sets their drinks on the table and gives Koltira a long, sweet look. She winks before walking away. Koltira watches her go, one eye squinted nearly shut in confusion. _Well, that hasn’t happened in a decade._

Anarchaia catches the gesture from the waitress but says nothing, instead regarding Taveth. <<You don’t think you’d feel better getting it off your chest? Knowing how he feels about it? Getting it over with?>>

Taveth scowls. <<No. No, I would not. I would rather pretend it never happened.>>

<<Drink,>> Koltira urges from the other couch. He pushes Taveth’s drink toward him.

Anarchaia sips her wine straight from the bottle. <<If you want, I can pretend to be you and tell him.>> She takes a moment to think of the situation and chortles into the back of a hand.

Taveth’s eyes widen. <<You’d do that? You’d actually—>>

Koltira clears his throat loudly across from the two. <<No. Face your demons.>>

Taveth points at him. <<You’re not the boss of me.>>

Anarchaia grins at the conflict between the two and urges Taveth to drink. <<Perhaps if you do something for me I’ll consider it.>>

The Illidari laughs again. “Sorry for what? Being surprising?”

“For making assumptions,” she clarifies.

“For being normal, then.” Grimory chuckles and sets a boot on the table. “You should be sorry. So, _so_ sorry.”

Alisbeth narrows her eyes at the demon hunter. “Right.”

Grimory lifts his brows and smiles. “Not a fan of playful sarcasm? Okay, I’ll keep it to a minimum.”

Alisbeth purses her lips. “I didn’t realize you were being sarcastic. Maybe you should try harder next time.”

Grimory tilts his head. “You honestly think I think you should apologize for being normal? Hm. Perhaps I _should_ try harder.”

Alisbeth gives him a wry smile. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

The Illidari chews on the ice from his water and shrugs. “I’m really good at that, though.”

Taveth swallows a few mouthfuls of wine then pretends to be occupied staring at something across the tavern. <<What would I have to do for you?>> he asks in Dwarvish.

Anarchaia looks from Koltira and Taveth and frowns. <<I just feel so badly for him. Can you blame me?>> She gives Taveth a crooked smile to signify that she heard but doesn’t answer.

Koltira purses his lips. <<No.>> He sighs and swirls his whiskey. <<You have to take three shots of this _and_ do what Ana says.>>

Anarchaia bites her lip while simultaneously grinning at Taveth. “Hn?”

Taveth stares at Koltira, unamused. <<Fine, I’ll drink your pure acid.>>

The death knight laughs and pours three shots worth into his glass, then holds it out. Taveth swallows the liquid in small mouthfuls, shuddering after each swallow.

Anarchaia lifts her brows, genuinely impressed. “Wow,” she says, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” She gives him a hard pat on the back.

Alisbeth unintentionally ignores Grimory as she watches the high elf drink. “Should you really be drinking so much so fast?”

Grimory watches and swallows hard while shifting uncomfortably. _This can only end well._

Taveth sets the glass on the table, already looking ill. He grabs at the mage. “You don’t understand. I _had_ to.”

Koltira flinches inwardly, feeling guilty for how the other man will be feeling soon.

Anarchaia instinctively grabs his hand as he reaches for her, a cautious grin on her face. “O-okay. You’ve earned it, I think.” She lowers her voice. <<I’ll follow when he leaves, okay?>>

Grimory pulls his ears back as they speak a language he can’t decipher. “Earned what?” he asks suspiciously.

Anarchaia perks and chuckles nervously. “A-a book from Karazhan’s library. Master said we couldn’t take any, but I told Tav I’d steal one if he took three shots. Heh.”

“Tav, how are you feeling?” Koltira asks.

He sets his forehead on Anarchaia’s shoulder as the alcohol rushes in on him. “Not good.”

Patting the top of his head, Anarchaia conjures a mug of ice water and holds it up for Taveth to see. “Here. You’ll probably need this.” She looks over to Grimory after noticing his empty glass. “You aren’t drinking? That’s strange.”

The Illidari furrows his brow in slight annoyance of her obvious lie and change of subject. “I have a meeting tomorrow. I’d rather not be vomiting in front of the entire militia.”

Taveth sips at the water. He hiccups and makes a face. “It feels good, but also…not.”

Anarchaia laughs. “If you drink water you’ll either feel better or you’ll throw up…which will make you feel better.”

“I think I might be nearing the latter,” Taveth groans.

Alisbeth straightens with interest. “Oh! What sort of meeting? What’s it about? What rank are you? Can I come?”

Koltira bites at the smirk forming on his face. _There she is. Gods, I still miss her. Shit._

Grimory smiles. “I’m working towards lieutenant. The paperwork still hasn’t gone through for finding those relics…or Khadgar’s commendation. I’m going to bring it up tomorrow.”

Koltira picks Taveth up and wordlessly carries him upstairs.

Alisbeth giggles at her cousin. “Will he be okay?” she asks the mage.

Anarchaia gives a shrug and a grin. “Maybe? I’ve seen smaller people drink more and be okay? Heh.”

“I’ve also seen bigger people drink less and fall into fountains,” Grimory snorts, draping his elbow over the back of the couch.

Alisbeth purses her lips in concern. “I suppose it’s his own fault.”

After a while of idle conversation and a few lighter drinks, Grimory stretches his legs and gets to his feet. “Well. I think I should get _some_ rest in before sunrise. See y’all tomorrow.” He gives a curt bow of his head and shoulders and turns to leave.

Anarchaia quickly downs the rest of her glass and straightens her robe. She gives Alisbeth an awkward smile and follows once he’s completely out of sight. “Excuse me.”

Alisbeth sighs and sits awkwardly on the couch for a minute before deciding that sitting and drinking alone isn’t something she’s interested in. She goes to her room to find something to occupy her time.

After stalking the Illidari down a darkened alleyway, Anarchaia conjures her disguise. She clears her throat to ensure she’s using Taveth’s voice and bounds over to stop Grimory before he can turn into the streets ahead. “G-Grim! A moment…i-if you would.”

Grimory turns, thumbs in his belt loops. “Tav. Uh…” He coughs into a fist and scratches at the nape of his neck. “Hey. What’s up?”

Anarchaia stumbles as she comes to a stop before him but catches her footing. “A-about the…dream. Heh. I…” She pauses and folds her arms in a feeble attempt to act casual. “I…just wanted to complete the dare. I-is all. And…”

Grimory gives the man before him a once over with his eyes before lifting a brow. “Yeah? And?”

“And…” Her cheeks darken. “And I just…wantedtoletyouknowthatIkindofsortofenjoyedit.” She taps the toe of her shoe on the cobblestone while looking down and away. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“Look, Tav,” Grimory interrupts, taking a step closer. “I’m really not concerned with who you love or what you do behind closed doors.” He takes another step closer and the image of Taveth backs away from him. “And really, I’m flattered. I am.”

Anarchaia swallows and brings her hands up to fidget with her fingers. “I-I’m not expecting you to reciprocate. I was just curious if…”

Grimory sets a hand on her shoulder and gives an endearing smile. “I’m not. Thanks, though. Friends, yeah?” He holds out a hand.

Anarchaia takes it and gives it a meek shake. “Yeah. Friends.”

Grimory nods and turns to leave and the mage gives a sigh of relief and places a hand over her racing heart. _Why am I so nervous?_

“Oh,” the demon hunter says as he turns back. “And another thing.” He backs her against the cold stone wall of the tavern beside them and presses his lips to hers. Her eyes widen and she can do nothing but wait for him to pull away. When he does she holds her breath and stares into his glowing green eyes. He leans down to her ear and she can feel the heat of his breath on her neck. “Good night, Ana.” He again turns and leaves her there in the dim moonlight.


	11. Chapter 11

Taveth whines at the light filtering red through his eyelids. He pulls the blanket over his head and forces his face deeper into the pillow. “Diori, close the blinds.”

Alisbeth cocks an eyebrow and closes the double doors to the balcony. “Been over a century since she’s been gone. Since when was it Diori and not ‘Auntie Wedbwade’?” She sits on the bed and pokes his side.

Taveth twitches and pulls the blanket down to look at her. “If you tickle me, I’ll throw up on you.” He rubs lazy fingers over his eyes and stretches. “Your daughter. You named her Diori Nightheart and sent her to live with us. Father raised her as his own and the rest of us followed suit. We only just found out.”

Alisbeth frowns. “You must think me a terrible person.”

“Nope. We’re past all that.”

~~

Anarchaia pokes her head into the lounge and waves to Arille behind the bar. “Good morning, Azuregaze. Is Taveth still here?”

The high elf nods as he sips his coffee. “You gonna pay your tab today?”

Anarchaia gives a nervous chuckle and simply crosses the lounge to the stairs. She ascends and knocks lightly on the door to Alisbeth’s room.

Alisbeth opens the door and gives the mage a kind smile. “Hello. What brings you here so early?”

Anarchaia pulls her mask up to return the smile. “I was actually looking for Taveth. Is he still here?”

Alisbeth moves to the side and motions at the bed. “Koltira dropped him off last night. He was out before he hit the pillow. Careful, he might be close to death.”

Taveth moans and grimaces at the mage. “_Why?_” he whines pitifully.

Anarchaia strides to his side and chuckles, waving her gratitude to Alisbeth. “Change your mind? Don’t want me to tell you?”

Taveth’s curiosity coerces a scowl to his lips. “Do I already know the answer?”

Alisbeth closes the door and leans against it. “What’s going on now?”

Anarchaia’s smile grows sympathetic. Images from the night before echo in her mind and she clears her throat. <<Well. Yes and no. He said he’s uninterested but is flattered and wants to remain friends.>> She looks over at Alisbeth. “Girl troubles. Heh.”

Taveth frowns and buries himself in the blankets and pillows. <<Memory charm.>>

Alisbeth narrows her eyes at the two. “Girl…troubles…”

Anarchaia frowns. “I’ll…see what I can do.” She sighs and turns to Alisbeth, then smiles again. “Yeah. Girl talk. Uhm. Have you seen Koltira between now and last night?”

Taveth shrugs lazily as Alisbeth focuses her questioning stare on him. “Girl troubles.”

Alisbeth shakes her head. “Whatever. Um, no. He dropped Tav off and then left.”

Anarchaia visibly deflates and sighs again. “All right. Thank you.” She sets a hand on Taveth’s head and musses his hair. “If you need to talk…”

“I’m just going to stay here and pray for death. No worries.”

Alisbeth gives Anarchaia a patient smile. “I’ll make sure he stays alive.”

Taveth whines and drags the blanket over his head again. “Be a love and turn off the sun.”

Anarchaia chuckles. “I’m going to have a hard enough time getting this potion from Milhouse let alone turn off the sun.” She gives Alisbeth a thankful smile as she passes. “Please do. He’ll need all the help he can get for the next twelve-to-sixteen hours.” She gives a curt wave and heads downstairs, conjuring her To-Do list in the process.

Alisbeth turns to the lump on the bed after the door is closed. “Girl troubles…”

The lump groans softly in reply.

~~

Arms wrap around Anarchaia’s waist from behind and lift her up to leave her feet dangling in the air. Koltira presses his face into the side of hers. “Good morning.”

Anarchaia _eek!_s in surprise and the parchment that’d been lazily floating before her flutters to the floor. She smiles and presses her hands over his arms and pushes her lips to his cheek. “Morning. You disappeared last night. Almost thought you’d died along with Taveth.” She chuckles.

Koltira laughs and sets her down. “I had some things to take care of in Acherus. Sorry I didn’t tell you, I just couldn’t find you. Where’d you go?”

“Oh! That’s right. I, uh…I did _the thing_. Heh.” She waves down Arille and motions for a coffee. “It went…” She flushes. “Well. Ish.”

“Ish?”

“He basically said _Thanks but no thanks_.” She sips her coffee then recoils at the heat, fingers to her lips. “Was…polite about it though.”

“And I’m guessing you already told Taveth,” Koltira says, cringing somewhat. “How’d he take it?”

“Well? Ish? Heh.” She sighs and deflates, setting the cup down. “He wants me to get the potion anyway. I said I’d try.”

Koltira shrugs and rubs her back comfortingly. “I guess he’s just too embarrassed to deal with it? I mean, he did kiss one of the straightest men I know, while drunk, and with a small spark of hope. He’s a bookworm, he probably does about as well with confrontation as you did when we first met.”

“Yeah, poor Tav. I just can’t resist helping him out.” Anarchaia frowns slightly and taps at the side of her mug. “I was as awkward as he is?” She perks, panic in her face. “Am I _still_ that awkward?”

Koltira shakes his head and sets his hands on hers to urge calm. “No, no, no. You were close, but not nearly as bad. And now you’re, well compared to him you’re a regular person.”

The mage cringes. “That’s…not saying much.” She sighs in defeat. “Ah well. Do you have any plans for the day?” She conjures a pocket watch to check the time then sends it away. “We should do something.”

Koltira smiles. “I agree. What did you have in mind? Visit that pond you wanted to go to yesterday?” He sets his hand over hers, wrapping his fingers around to squeeze.

Anarchaia twists her wrists to grab his fingers with hers and blushes with a small smile. “Maybe. We haven’t had alone time in over a week. It’d be nice to sit and listen to the forest again.” Her eyes flick to the doorway. “Good morning, Grim. Done with your meeting already?”

The Illidari gives a curt nod and scratches at one of his horns. “Morning. And time is meaningless in the nether. Is Ali awake?”

The mage nods in return and her smile fades some. “Yeah. Upstairs. Heh.”

“Right. Thanks.” He pats Koltira on the shoulder in greeting then heads for the stairs.

Koltira’s brow lowers as the demon hunter disappears. “Did he really just ask if an undead, non-sleeping being was awake?”

Anarchaia snerks. “He does that a lot. I’m…hoping he’s joking.” She sips her coffee.

Once at the top, Grimory gently knocks on the door and stretches while he waits for a response.

Alisbeth opens the door and gives the demon hunter a small smile. “Um…hi? Did you need something?”

Grimory lifts his brows and sets his weight on a leg. “I was going to take you to Light’s Hope. Unless you changed your mind about that…”

Taveth curls the blanket tighter around himself and debates telling Alisbeth she can’t go. Instead, he says nothing.

The death knight smiles brightly. “Oh! Yes, please. Let me just get dressed.” She shoves him out the door and dresses quickly.

“I see you naked nearly every night,” the demon hunter mumbles when the door closes, then folds his arms to wait.

“Not going to shove me out?” Taveth asks.

“You’re not going to look.” She finishes and opens the door again. “Will the journey be long?”

Grimory gives a shrug when it opens. “I suppose that’s up to you. I have no plans for the next forty-eight hours or so, so it doesn’t matter to me.”

Alisbeth pokes at the lump under the blanket. “You gonna be okay alone, Tav?”

He moans and scoots away from her.

She leans over and pokes at him again.

Grimory shifts awkwardly upon realizing the mound is actually Taveth and clears his throat. “Though I don’t think they’ll allow us near after nightfall.”

“Oh! Then we should get going.” She clasps a cloak around her shoulders and puts the Redblade across her back.

The demon hunter steps aside to let her pass and grabs the door handle. He mumbles a “See you, Tav,” and closes it before following down the stairs. “There’s a portal to the Undercity on the east side of town. From there we can grab a flight path to the Plaguelands.” He shrugs a shoulder and casts a glance to the two at the bar as he passes, nodding. “Or I can fly us from there.”

Anarchaia returns the nod and smiles sheepishly before turning away. “Three hundred gold, here I come.” She rubs her palms together comically and bites her lip.

Koltira shakes his head as he watches Alisbeth go. She turns to give him a kind smile and a little wave of her fingertips at her hip.

He returns the smile, then casts his gaze to the bar. “I don’t know. Time is running out and so far he’s only managed to piss her off. Besides, how will you know if you’ve won or not?”

Anarchaia deflates some at the interaction and following question. “I suppose I won’t unless I ask.” She swallows a sigh. _I’m sure you’d rather I lost at this point._ She finishes her coffee and pulls her mask back down. “Assuming he doesn’t lie.” She conjures her task list and runs her eyes down each item.

Koltira shrugs and remains quiet for a minute. “Could ask both separately, and don’t tell them about the bet.”

“I suppose.” Anarchaia releases the sigh she’d been resisting and turns to give a soft smile as she stands. “You know, I…actually have a lot to do. Uhm. Perhaps you and I could do something tomorrow.”

The death knight frowns and eyes Anarchaia. “O-oh…okay. Um, yeah. That’s…sure.” He tries to hide his disappointment.

The mage leans over to place a kiss on his cheek through her mask. “I’ll find you later.” She turns and, in a moment of passive-aggressive subtlety, gives a wave similar to the one Alisbeth had given before making her way out the door with her list in tow.

Koltira’s ears pull back and he frowns after the mage. He gives a growl of frustration and heads back to Acherus.~ * ~

Alisbeth slips out the door and sighs into the morning air. “Do you think we’ll see any action on this venture?”

Grimory gives a faint laugh. “At least that part of you hasn’t changed much.” He leads her down the slowly filling cobblestone streets. “I don’t think so, though. Unless you’d like to start a fist fight with a guard.”

Alisbeth gives Grimory a look and scoffs. “What honor is there in fighting a guard?”

The Illidari gives a laugh and extends a hand to usher her into the portal. “Only a joke.”

Alisbeth gives him a wry smile and enters the portal.

He leads her through the Undercity streets and up the stairs to the loft above. “Hope you like bats,” he says with a chuckle as they near the flight master there.

Alisbeth’s nose wrinkles in disgust as she looks around the city. “What is this. What are these people? This is…wrong!” She jumps at his words and her mouth drops open. “_Bats?_”

Grimory pauses and clears his throat. He decides it best not to explain everything lest he overwhelm her. “Right. I guess I’m the flight master today. C’mon.” He takes her gently by the forearm and leads her onto an elevator, rushing in his steps when he sees an abomination rounding the corner. He sighs inwardly in relief when the stone door slams shut. “I’m glad you didn’t wear armor.”

Alisbeth pouts slightly. “It feels like you’re sheltering me. I’m not a child, you know.”

Grimory grimaces and leads her up the ramp and into the empty, decrepit throne room. “I’m not trying to shelter you. I just…don’t want to overwhelm you. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.” He steps out into the courtyard and gauges the wind. “Sorry if it came off that way.” He turns. “This place was overrun when the Lich King came to power. Arthas slayed his father and the Undead took over. Sylvanas Windrunner became the Banshee Queen and her followers chose here to reside. It’s known as the Undercity and they side with the Horde.” Empty lungs burning, he inhales hungrily after his lecture. “I can answer more on the way.”

“Arthas…” Alisbeth frowns and steps to the demon hunter. “I’m ready.”

Grimory nods. “Right.” He bends at the waist to take her up into his arms. With her knees in the crook of an elbow and her shoulder blades against the opposite forearm, he spreads his wings and leaps into the air heading southeast. “Sorry. I know this all must be very confusing. I…kind of know what you’re going through.”

Alisbeth wraps her arms around the demon hunter’s neck. A small panic rises that she might be dropped, so she grips him tighter and presses closer into him. “Um, I, uh… W-what do you mean?” she asks, closing her eyes as the ground speeds past beneath them.

“I was imprisoned in a crystal for ten years,” the Illidari responds over the rushing wind. “I had to learn about all this stuff by word-of-mouth, too.” A goose leading its flock honks angrily at them as it’s passed. “Azeroth changes so quickly… It’s hard to keep up, yeah?”

The death knight shakes her head and looks up into his eyes. “I feel like I’ve missed so much. But I did great deeds, right? They sing of me at the hearth? Uther said they would. I’m destined for it, you know? Did I achieve it?”

Grimory catches her glance and holds it for a moment before looking back ahead. “I’m told you were a wonder. Everywhere I go someone seems to recognize your name. I’d say that’s a success.” He readjusts her weight in his arms ever so slightly. “And from what I’ve seen personally, you’re…a great person.”

She makes a face and stares at her thighs. “Now I _know_ you’re just trying to flatter me. If you really knew me, you’d know that I don’t play well with others. Mostly because they’re idiots.”

Grimory smiles at her first comment and adds an “I know. That’s why I like you.”

She stares back up into his face and purses her lips. “Why were you in prison? Are you a criminal?”

His grin fadesas she continues. “They saw me that way. The Wardens. Maiev. Anyone following Lord Illidan’s footsteps is near in worth to demons in their eyes.” He sighs. “I was just following orders to protect him.”

Alisbeth nods. “It was the honorable thing to do. If you’d disobeyed, the consequences could be worse. And…you enlisted for a reason, didn’t you? Was it a good cause?” She adjusts herself just a little bit to turn her chest more toward his to protect herself from the chill of the wind.

Grimory’s lips twitch at the corners as though he wants to smile but cannot. “I didn’t really enlist. I signed up to aid Silvermoon in the fight against the Scourge. I was sent through the Dark Portal instead.” He finds a safe place to land; a considerable distance from the chapel. “I trusted Kael’thas.” He parts his lips to say more, then closes them again. He motions ahead. “The crypts.”

Alisbeth peers into the darkness and frowns. “They put him in there? In the dark?” She sighs and goes to the entrance. A shiver runs up her spine as she looks down into the cold crypt.

Grimory follows behind and sets a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right beside you. Unless you’ve changed your mind…”

“Of course I haven’t. I just never thought they’d put such a great man in such a terrible place.” She sets her hand on his and smiles. “I’m not frightened, but it’s good to have you at my side.” She descends slowly, picking her steps with care, her hand holding onto the demon hunter’s to keep him near her.

His eyes crackle with quiet flames when her hand covers his. He clears his throat and follows. “Even the greatest of kings get put in crypts sometimes. Perhaps his sarcophagus is shrouded in light, as is fitting for him.” He gives an endearing smile down at her. “I doubt they’d do anything shameful with such an influential man.”

“Perhaps,” she says absently, her eyes sweeping across the stone coffins. She grabs a lit torch from the wall and moves forward to look at the placards. “No. No. This is wrong. These were not heroes. They were not great men.”

“I thought I smelled something.”

Alisbeth spins around to see a paladin glaring at her.

“Please, explain why you desecrate the fallen with your presence.” She draws her sword and stands ready.

Grimory flinches at the voice and turns quickly. He puts on a polite visage. “We wanted to pay respects to Tirion Fordring. Perhaps you could direct us to his resting site?” He glances at Alisbeth, unsure if he should give away her identity. “We’re not here for violence. There’s no need for a blade.”

She sneers. “After last time, I’m not even going to entertain the idea of letting your kind near his remains.”

“Please,” Alisbeth says, “I was his apprentice. It feels like yesterday, but I’m told it was many decades ago.”

“I don’t care,” she says in a clipped tone. “Leave, before I lose what little patience I have.”

Grimory pauses before scowling and squaring his shoulders. “What reason do you have to turn her away? She’s Alisbeth Redblade. They were close friends!”

The woman scoffs. “That name means nothing. Your book was burned when you left the Light. In fact, I burned it myself.”

Alisbeth’s frown deepens. “Who are you?”

“Oh, don’t you remember me? You don’t remember the worms?”

Alisbeth snorts a quick laugh. “That one never gets old.”

Liadrin sneers and takes a step toward them. “Tell me, what made you leave the Light? It had to be something big—you didn’t leave the Light even when you abandoned that bastard child. Not even when Silvermoon fell.”

The fire in Grimory’s eyes gives a quiet _fwoosh_ as they burst brighter. He bristles, straightens, and steps forward. “I don’t care who you are or what issues you have with Alisbeth. I’m sure they’re unjust all the same,” he hisses, fists tightening at his sides. “But you leave Diori out of this.”

“Oh! So the bastard has a name. Cute.” She fixes her sights back on Alisbeth. “Leave, Redblade, and never come back. You’re not welcome here. You should have been expelled from the Light long before your little _mistake_. Does she know that she’s an unwanted bastard of an orphan who failed to become anything more than a forgotten memory?”

Alisbeth remains in her place, her fists tightening at her sides. Finally, she launches at Liadrin, screaming out like a banshee, her eyes wild with anger. She gets in one good punch before the paladin knocks her across the room and leaves her dazed in a heap on the floor.

The demon hunter opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Alisbeth’s shriek. “_Ali!_” He flinches as she’s thrown to the stone and gives his own growl, dashing forward with claws at the ready. “For someone who claims to follow the Light, you sure have very little honor!” He sends a slash toward her unarmored face.

A shell of light surrounds Liadrin as she hops backward. The demon hunter’s claws knock her sword from her hand; she gasps at the sharp pain in her wrist at the impact. With a growl, she conjures a hammer of light and launches it at Grimory—a tail of light streaks behind the holy weapon.

The Illidari lifts the opposite hand to slash at the shell but is met with a hammer to his jaw instead. He reels back, blood flowing from his lip and gums. He rushes forward again and throws a sigil of fel fire beneath the woman while sweeping low with a claw to unbalance her.

The paladin leaps over Grimory, avoiding both attacks. She rolls across the dirt, then bumps into the stone wall. Before the demon hunter can adjust, she pushes herself from the wall, speeding at him. She grabs her sword and slashes out at him.

He spins just in time to catch the flash of steel coming at him and ducks low to avoid it. He thrusts out a leg in an attempt to knock an ankle out from beneath her. “None of this is necessary!” he barks.

Liadrin yelps as she falls to the ground. She rolls and crouches, ready for any attack he might make against her. “Who drew first, hm?”

“Words count as weapons,” he spits. “So, you did.” He lunges forward again, claws aimed for her face for a second attempt.

Another shield encircles her, but barely too late. Grimory’s claws rake across her cheek, tearing the flesh open. She leaps away from him. “You dishonor the dead my bringing _her_ here. I am merely defending them. Leave and I will spare you.”

“Tirion would have wanted her here!” he growls, the tips of his claws smoldering. He pushes a foot back in ready for another attack. “And if you let _us_ through, _I’ll_ spare _you_.”

Liadrin closes her eyes in contemplation. A huge, golden bubble spreads over the area to incapacitate all but Liadrin. “There is your answer. The Light does not want her here.” She sets the tip of her sword to Grimory’s throat. “Leave, demon hunter, and never return.”

A tingling sensation crawls up his legs and he slowly finds that he cannot move. He grits his fangs and swallows against the blade. “Fine,” he grunts, “but know that you’re wrong.”

She indicates the huge shield around them and sneers. “I’m not the one passing judgement.” She withdraws her sword and steps back. The shield fades and releases its hold on Grimory. “I’ll kill both of you if you step foot near Light’s Hope again.”

The demon hunter’s limbs loosen once more and he rubs at his aching muscles. “Your gods must be proud,” he spits and goes to Alisbeth. When she does not rouse, he lifts her into his arms and heads for the stairs. Still sore from the flight there, he finds a quiet space beneath a tree to set her down. He gazes down at her sadly for a moment before turning and trudging off into the foliage behind her. “I’ll be right back,” he says as though she can hear.

Liadrin remains within the gates, watching them carefully, her sword gripped in her fists with the tip pointed to the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

After only minutes Grimory returns with a bundle of various flowers he’d been able to find. He sits beside Alisbeth and sets them in a heap beside an exposed root. Rubbing his shoulder, he hisses in pain and sighs.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, finding the word easier to say knowing she cannot respond.

Alisbeth’s eyes snap open as he bumps her. She takes an instinctive deep breath, then looks at him. “Where are we? What happened?”

He jumps. “She wouldn’t let us in,” he simply says. “She hit you. Knocked you out.”

Alisbeth stares at him for a long time as though she’s unsure how to process the information. Without warning, she crumples against him and sobs, tears springing from her eyes. “I hate this future. I just wanted to say goodbye. I just wanted to…” She hiccups and gives up trying to speak over her cries.

The Illidari flinches again as she throws herself into him. He hesitates as the sound of her sobbing causes panic to stick in his throat. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes gently. “H-hey. Please don’t cry. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out, yeah? I got some flowers for you to leave when we do, see?” He reaches to pick up a black lotus and holds it where she can see it.

Alisbeth takes the lotus and smiles. She wipes at her tears and looks up at him, gasping as she forces the tears to stop. She sits up to look at him. “I was wrong about you.” She leans forward and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

His cheeks flush and eyes ignite simultaneously. He glances away and gives the smallest of smiles. “You’re welcome.” With a longing look over his shoulder at the chapel, he sighs. “I bet Ana is allowed to go in. We could get her to place them for you. Or your cousin.”

The death knight frowns and shakes her head. “It’s not the same.” She scoops up the flowers, taking a moment to smell them. She slips one behind his ear and grins, then stands. She approaches the gate, her eyes locked with Liadrin’s. Alisbeth stops just outside. The two elves lock in a glaring match for a minute. Then Alisbeth kneels and lays the flowers just inside the gate. “Goodbye, Tirion.”

With a smile Grimory stands and goes to her, also making sure to cast the paladin a look. He sets a hand on Alisbeth’s back and makes a rude gesture before turning away. “We can find some way to get in another day. She can’t possibly be here all the time, right?”

Alisbeth nods and smiles at him. She leans her head on his shoulder. “I suppose you’re right. Let’s go. I’m tired of looking at her face.”

The demon hunter’s smile widens some as he glances down at her. He gives a slightly nervous chuckle as he leads her toward the path west. “I…kind of strained myself with that last flight. I normally don’t carry people that far. We may have to hoof it a short while until my shoulders stop hurting.” He hesitates. “And there’s no portal back to Dalaran from Undercity. We’ll have to take the zeppelin to Orgrimmar…”

Alisbeth raises an eyebrow at him. “This sounds complicated and unnecessary. Why not just open a portal in Undercity? How hard would that actually be?” She shakes her head, then sighs. “I’m sorry. We should have just taken the bat.”

Grimory chuckles. “I’m not one hundred percent certain, to be honest. Perhaps it’d make too much sense.” He stretches. “And don’t be sorry. Some people like bats. Some don’t. It won’t take long for me to get my stamina back.” He pulls at his arm and winks with a grin. “We’ll be back in Dalaran in no time. Next week if we’re lucky.”

She frowns. “I suppose that isn’t so bad. It took me a month and a half to travel from Stormwind to Southshore—what, with the wagon’s wheel breaking once and then the blizzard in the Dun Morogh pass. Will your friends—our friends—miss us?”

Grimory can’t help a smile. He gives her a gentle elbow to the shoulder. “I’m kidding.”

Alisbeth makes a face. “Oh. Ha. I see.” She enjoys the scenery for a long time, lost in thought. “What can you tell me about that death knight? Koltira, right?”

The demon hunter sobers some and gives a shrug as they walk. “He’s a nice guy, I guess. Strong. Accurate.” He swallows and pushes his thumbs into his belt loops. “You two had a thing for a while.”

Alisbeth’s face flushes. “O-oh. What kind of thing?”

Grimory glances at her face from the corner of his eye and for a moment thinks about lying. “You were married. Not sure for how long.”

Alisbeth stops in her tracks and stares ahead in shock. “I don’t believe you. And besides, if he’s so great then why are we not married anymore? Wait, are we not married?”

The demon hunter stops as well and turns. “I didn’t say he was _great_.” He hesitates. “And no. He…left you. For Ana.”

She frowns, then forces her feet to move. “She must be something special. Or not. Not like I’m that great, myself.” She gives a sort of laugh. “What about you? Someone special or just…trying to get close to random women?”

Grimory gives a somber smile and decides to bite his tongue on the matter of the mage. “I don’t know. You and I were kind of in some sort of…partnership? If you want to call it that?” He shrugs and avoids looking at her. “And we had a one-day thing back before…everything. So, no. No _random women_ for me.”

Alisbeth says nothing for a long time as they walk. When she does speak, it is with a strange tone. “So I’m alone.”

Grimory’s ears pull back at the word and he can’t stop himself from setting a hand on her shoulder. “No. I’m here. I have been. I…care…about you.” He clears his throat. “A lot.”

Alisbeth cocks an eyebrow at him, then laughs behind her fingertips. “I thought I was the woman here.” She punches his bicep and laughs harder. “Kidding. I know. It’s what friends do, right? I’m sure I care about you? Maybe. You’re a good…pal, I guess?”

Grimory scowls down at her before giving a snort. “Yeah. _Pal._” He gives her a punch of equal force in her shoulder. “And you should be grateful. Most men find it hard to say shit like that.” He folds his arms and shrugs with a smirk. “Maybe we can paint each other’s nails later. Listen to sad music?”

“Sorry, sorry! Gosh! No need to be so sensitive.” She pokes at his pectoral. “You gonna cry now? Do you need a tissue?”

Grimory flinches and feigns pain, rubs at the spot, and grins. He swipes at his eye with the back of a finger, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Maybe. I’m outright inconsolable. Devastated. How could you be so cruel?”

“It’s easy to not care about others’ feelings when nobody likes you to begin with.” She grins up at him. “Are we done walking yet?”

The demon hunter gives her a small scowl. “If you don’t stop talking like that I’ll be tempted to do something about it.” He lets her walk a few paces ahead before outstretching a wing. A cringe crosses his face as the muscles groan in protest. “I suppose I’m good. We can fly back from here.”

Alisbeth cocks an eyebrow back at him. “Are you threatening me?” Her smile turns painful as he cringes.

“What if I am?” he says with a grin and extends the other wing. “Are you gonna beat me up worse than you do yourself?”

“Might have to take it out on that fat head of yours.” She cringes at his wings. “Are you really absolutely sure you’re okay to fly?”

He scoffs. “I’d like to see you try, girlie.” Withholding a wince, he gives them a brief flap and folds them against his shoulder blades. “Yeah. Why? You’d rather walk a bit longer?”

Alisbeth clears her throat and turns away as a means to disguise her true intentions. “I just don’t want you to get weak and drop me to my death, is all.” She continues up the path, not waiting for him to follow.

The Illidari blinks after her and straightens, then jogs forward to follow. “Fair enough, I guess,” he mumbles. After a moment of admiring the scenery, he pushes his thumbs into his belt loops. “So. How far _do_ you remember?”

“I told you, I went to sleep in Southshore and woke up in a shower room in Dalaran.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Why?”

Grimory shrugs and scratches at his sideburn. “Just trying to get a grasp of how you’re feeling.” The sky above swirls with clouds of yellow and gray. The path they walk narrows and widens at random spots. A long silence passes. “She’s perfect, by the way.”

Alisbeth stares at him, an eyebrow raised. “Who?”

“Diori. Our daughter. You’d be so proud.” He can’t help smiling and looks away. “She’s smart. And beautiful.” He opens his mouth to say more but closes it instead.

Alisbeth looks away from him and rubs her arm. “Oh. That’s…” she clears her throat, “nice.”

He glances over at her, his smile fading some as he rubs at the nape of his neck. “Would you like to meet her? O-or…would that make you uncomfortable?”

She tilts her head so her hair covers her face. “I’d rather not. She’s not…_mine_.” After a moment she adds a soft, “I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows and he frowns. He sets a hand on her back. “I understand. I know exactly how you feel.” A reassuring smile crosses his lips. “Don’t be sorry.” His smile falls again and he retracts his hand. “If anything, I should be sorry.”

Alisbeth smiles at the small contact. “I don’t see why you should be. I feel like I’m…insulting your daughter.”

Grimory chuckles. “You’re not. I didn’t know she was mine up until recently, either. When we had our…_thing_, and when you left I searched for you for a month. I didn’t even know about her.” He shrugs. “So I’m really in the same boat as you.”

Alisbeth frowns. “I really am a terrible person, aren’t I?”

The demon hunter stops and places both hands on her shoulders to force her to look at him. He scowls. “No, Ali. You’re not. You did what you felt was right. No one can hold that against you.” He narrows his eyes. “And if I hear it again you’re spending the rest of this trip with my hand over your mouth.”

“You can’t spend the _whole_ trip covering my mouth and you know it.” She shakes free of his grasp and continues stubbornly forward.

Grimory scoffs and follows. “That sure sounds like a challenge if I’ve ever heard one. You’d honestly rather wallow in lies than continue the road back without my hand on your face?” He slows to a stop as a group of two men and a woman step out of the shadows of the trees on either side of the path. He grunts. “Are you kidding?”

“There’s a toll to get through these parts,” says the human with sandy hair through his thick country accent. He tosses a dagger between his hands.

“Coin or other. Doesn’t matter,” continues the orc at his side.

Alisbeth rolls her eyes. “Oh, a path toll. Would be a shame if someone just walked off the path and told you to kindly fuck off.” She turns and walks away into the trees.

The undead woman, eyes glowing a hazy blue, throws up a hand. Chains made of ice thrust up from the dirt below and wrap themselves about Alisbeth’s ankles.

“Hear that? She told us to fuck off.” The two men laugh. The human turns, mouth open to regard Grimory, but is interrupted with a hard, mutated fist to his jaw.

“I’m honestly so sick of you bandits.” The demon hunter dodges the orc’s retaliation, his blade swinging close to his chin. “With people like us walking about y’all still manage to breed like rats.” He swings at his abdomen but the orc leans away as well.

Alisbeth turns to glare at the forsaken. She withdraws her weapon while simultaneously dragging the woman forward with a purple tendril. Once her hand is around the undead’s throat, she sneers. “Bitch, please.” She swings wide, an overwhelming desire to take the forsaken woman’s head off creeping into the back of her mind.

The human recovers and swings his arm around, his dagger aimed at Grimory’s side.

The woman’s form becomes ethereal and she swirls around Alisbeth and out of her grasp. Without a word, she spins and aims the sole of her heavy metal boot at the small of the other girl’s back.

Distracted with the orc and not having expected the human to recover so quickly, Grimory hisses as the blade nestles itself between his ribs. He lifts his boot to kick the man away from him as to deprive him of a second strike. The orc, taking the opportunity, brings his blade back down on the elf, but again narrowly misses.

Alisbeth twirls around, her sword swinging in a wide arc, aimed at the forsaken woman’s throat. The woman continues to remain silent as green ichor pours from her neck. Visibly hindered, she retaliates with a slash from her rapier towards Alisbeth’s midsection.

The human trips over his own heel and stumbles to the ground on his rear.

Grimory takes a quick moment to blow fel fire over the stumbled man, ensuring he will not rise again. As he does, however, the orc brings his blade down, into his shoulder. Blood sprays and the Illidari growls loudly in pain. He swings his claws across the offender’s chest, ripping gaping holes in the flesh.

Alisbeth dodges away and swings again, her face set in a malicious leer, eyes manic as she imagines this woman’s head rolling from her shoulders onto the ground.

The human stands and laughs. “Pathetic demon hunter.” He leaps forward, slashing at Grimory’s face with his dagger.

Grimory dodges the slash by backpedaling out of its path. He winces at the pain in his shoulder and uses his non-dominant hand to slash at the man’s hand in an attempt to disarm him.

As though through divine will, the blade slices clear through the woman’s neck. Helm and all, her head rolls off and into the bushes, scattering foliage as it disappears into the shrubbery.

Alisbeth watches the head roll away, a desperate need in her eyes. She takes a few steps forward, then hears the battle raging on behind her. She stares between the head and Grimory, unsure which one is more important—and unsure why she feels so drawn to the head. With a growl, she spins on the human.

“Hey! Catch!” Alisbeth tosses her sword through the air and sprints after it.

The Redblade tumbles end over end toward the others. The hilt turns copper as it goes. The human reaches out his hand and catches the sword by the handle. His pompous sneer drops in the blink of an eye as the weight of the weapon snaps his wrist back, dislocating it as he loses his footing and spins sideways, unable to stop the sword’s momentum. He drops the sword to the ground, then spins to find Alisbeth right in his face. She pulls back her fist and punches him as hard as she can.

Grimory gives a breathless chuckle as the man flies into the foliage on the side of the path. “Guess I’m not the pathetic one, here,” he spits, bringing a hand up to staunch the flow of blood coming from his shoulder. Nose broken and bleeding, the human looks between the two, calculating his odds with his friends already dead. He turns and runs into the sparse forest around them.

Alisbeth shrugs and picks up her sword. “I guess he does have a brain.” She observes Grimory, a look of worry across her brow as she chews her bottom lip.

The demon hunter gives a tired sigh and shrugs. “That’s arguable.” His eyes slide to hers and he knits his eyebrows slightly. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?” He wipes at his cheek only to spread blood from his wound across it.

She laughs gently into her fingertips and gathers her cloak into one hand. “You’re making a mess.” She wipes the blood from his cheek onto the cloth in her hand, and smiles at him. “Are you okay? That’s a lot of blood.” She nods at his shoulder.

A flush graces the demon hunter’s cheeks and he grins. “_Tch._ I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” He turns away and heads down the path to hide his burning eyes. “Much worse.”

Alisbeth smirks behind him, staring at his back as he walks—at the muscles working in his shoulders and hips to make his stride strong and purposeful. “You can’t say something like that and not tell me more. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

He turns, pace slowing. He gives a sort of chuckle at the vernacular. “My scars died with the rest of me. Multiple times. But by all means, I’m open to seeing yours.” He folds his arms and rests his weight on a heel, still refusing to wince at the pain of his wounds.

Alisbeth eyes his wounds and frowns. “Those are terrible.” She goes to him and sets her palm to his bleeding side. Her brow furrows as she pulls her hand away and the wound continues to bleed. “I can’t heal you? Why can’t I—_ugh!_” She sighs and unpins her cloak. Using the Redblade, she cuts strips from the fabric. She flings the remainder of the cloak over one shoulder, then stands and purses her lips at him. “I’m sorry.” She meticulously binds his wounds, smoothing her hands over his skin and the cloth to check the binding.

Grimory quietly watches, pursing his lips at the pain when she pushes on his cuts. He inhales sharply when she dresses them. “I’m fine,” he eventually mumbles as she fusses over the fabric. “Really, it’s nothing.”

Alisbeth smiles up at him, her hand lingering on the bandages wrapped across his chest. “I’m not willing to take that risk.” She pauses, then turns on her heel to resume walking. “How else will I find my way back to…well, people I don’t know, I suppose.”

He watches her walk for a few yards before following—admiring the shape and sway with her steps now that his view is unhindered by her cloak. “Are you implying you require my guidance?” he says with a playful grin, and again tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. “Almost _need me_, in a way?”

Alisbeth slips him a sly smile. “Even a braying ass has its uses.”

Grimory gives a hearty laugh, then finally winces at the pain caused by doing so. “I’ll take being a glorified map or pack mule over most things.” He smiles down at her with a mouth of fangs. “Especially for a pretty face. No charge.”

“You, sir, have low standards. But, if you enjoy being used, I’m not one to object to your pleasures.” She smiles again, hoping to disguise her accidental double entendre.

He lifts his brows and lowers his eyelids as he places a hand on his chest. “Me? _Low standards?_” Another laugh escapes him. “You really _have_ hit your head. My eye catches only the fairest.”

She makes a face at him. “I didn’t realize how injured you were, your eyesight seems to be failing. Perhaps you should get that looked at.” She reaches up to playfully push his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Afraid not. See, unlike the rest of those pansies back in Mardum, I still have my eyes.” He leans over to give her a flirty grin. “And they’re twenty-twenty.”

Alisbeth rolls her eyes and decides not to humor him any further. They continue on their trek, engaging in small talk and keeping their eyes peeled for more bandits.


	13. Chapter 13

Alisbeth sighs at the ground. “A horse would be helpful about now. I feel like we’ve been walking forever.”

“Not having further injured my shoulder would have been a good move,” the Illidari says with a sheepish grin. “Perhaps there’s a stable around somewhere. Or even an inn to point us in the right direction.” He turns to gaze over the hills and trees for signs of a chimney or silo.

Alisbeth follows his gaze, then points to the north west, within Western Plaguelands. “There. Seems a little out of the way, but if they have a horse…”

The Illidari nods. “Seems good a lead as any.” He gives another embarrassed smile. “Sorry this isn’t going the way we had originally planned.”

Alisbeth smiles, fidgeting just the littlest bit. “I don’t know, this has been…lovely, really. Getting to know you. You’re less pushy by yourself. The others stress you out, don’t they? Being around them? It’s her, isn’t it? The mage. Show over-interest in someone else to prove you don’t care she’s with another man instead of you?”

He furrows his brow. “You fancy yourself good at analyzing people. But no. She and I…had…_something_. But I like you. I always have. Since the day we met, I’d never forgotten.”

Her cheeks flush a darker blue and she hides her face behind her hair. “Oh. My other guess was Koltira. The way he was looking at me? You can’t say I’m wrong about that.”

Grimory’s brow furrows further. “No. You aren’t.” He clears his throat. “That’s also probably the reason she was being rather passive aggressive toward you.”

“Why did—” Alisbeth clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. “Never mind.” She picks up her pace as a lumber mill with a large stable comes into view.

Grimory follows, biting his tongue until he can’t. “Why did what?” he finally can’t keep himself from saying. He stops at the fence and glances over the field for signs of the owner or otherwise.

“Why did he not stay with me if he still feels the way I think he does?” Alisbeth walks along the fence until she finds a gate and spots a man swinging a torch at a gathering of medium sized spiders. Without a moment of hesitation, she leaps over the gate and runs to the man’s aid.

Grimory opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again as she runs off. He follows, bellowing fire over the offending insects. He winces in pain at the strain in his shoulder and chokes on his own embers.

Alisbeth goes to him and sets her palm on his side. “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

The farmer frowns at the two. “You didn’t have to kill them! They would’ve run away.”

Grimory grunts at the touch and purses his lips. “I’m fi—” His gaze shifts to the farmer. “And what if they hadn’t?”

“They’ve done before, I don’t see why they wouldn’t. They’re just innocent creatures, no need to go killing them!”

Alisbeth turns to the man, her nostrils flaring and eyes flashing. “You’re _welcome_.”

He shifts stubbornly, but doesn’t thank them. “What brings you up this way?”

Grimory bites his tongue. “We’ve found ourselves a bit stranded. We’re in need of some transportation.”

The farmer folds his arms and eyes them.

“This is Grimory, I am Alisbeth.” She extends her hand.

He takes her hand in a firm shake. “Nathaniel.” He sighs, relaxing. “Tell you what, take one of my horses out to the field and give the spiders a good scare, get them to back up away from the mill so my workers aren’t too afraid to work. You do that and you can take the horse. When you get where you’re going, just release it—all my horses know their way back home.”

Grimory knits his eyebrows but keeps a courteous tone in his voice. “I mean…we have money, too. So. Y’know…if you’d like that.”

Alisbeth holds up her hand as though blocking Grimory from view. “I’ll scare off the spiders. Give me a horse.”

Nathaniel goes to his stables and returns with a black and white stallion. “Just give him a good kick and he’ll whinny loud enough to scare them off. It’s not his first time. And he hates spiders, so just hold on tight or he might throw you.”

Alisbeth sighs and stares the huge horse in the face. It stares back at her, shifting as though unsure what to make of her. “Throw me and I’ll feed you to the spiders.”

The demon hunter gives a snerk of a laugh and leans forward onto the fence to watch. Memories of the first time he and the death knight had met floods his mind and his smile fades. “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he calls encouragingly, then can’t help but chuckle when he continues, “If you fuck it up I can always fix any shoe you loosen.”

Alisbeth shoots him a look. “Oh, and I suppose _you_ know all about it?” She rolls her eyes. “Please.” She jumps onto the horse and gallops away into the field. She barely has to tap the horse on the sides to get him to cry out over a spider. In front of one group, he bucks up and cries out. Alisbeth leans forward and squeezes her thighs to remain mounted. “What did I say?” she shouts and flicks his ear.

“I do, actually,” Grimory mutters as she trots off. He places his chin in a palm and watches, then snickers when the steed tries to throw her off. “He’s afraid of spiders and you make him chase them off? Seems kind of mean, don’t it?” he drones over to Nathaniel.

The human shrugs. “Makes him whinny the loudest, which scares the spiders. It’s a good solution that doesn’t involve bloodshed.”

Alisbeth gets the last of the spiders scared back into the field of hay stacks, then gallops back. She grins triumphantly at Grimory. “Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing on a horse. I’ve never slipped a shoe in my life.”

A smile spreads slowly across the demon hunter’s lips at her words. “I somehow don’t believe that,” he says in a coy tone. His gaze slides back to the farmer. “Is there anything else you’d like assistance with? This seemed like a pretty simple task for loaning us goods…”

Nathaniel smiles at the demon hunter. “You look honest enough. Besides, you should probably see a healer, and soon.”

“I assure you we are the honorable sort. I don’t want to take your loudest horse from you, though,” Alisbeth says. She slides from the horse and hands over the reins.

“Take Pathcarver, he’s the fastest I’ve got. But be careful, once you get him going, he’s hard to stop.” He points out a pure white horse, which is currently pacing as though he knows he’s going to get to run.

Alisbeth smiles. “Just like Bloodmane. Perfect.” She hops over the fence to wrangle the steed.

“Uncanny,” Grimory adds and assists with gathering a saddle cloth, saddle, bridle, and reins. He hands over a couple of the pieces to Alisbeth while securing the others. With a grin he regards Nathaniel. “You’re sure there’s nothing else? Gold? Bale some hay?” He glances at Alisbeth. “Haul some grain?”

Alisbeth stares expectantly at the farmer, but he shakes his head.

“I’m all right just knowing I’ve done a kindness to someone in need.”

She smiles. “As am I. Thank you.” When the horse is ready, she climbs on and indicates Grimory should get behind her. “Let’s hurry to a healer.”

Grimory nods his gratitude toward the man and carefully climbs his way up. He hisses when he’s forced to use his arm to settle himself comfortably behind her. “Thank you, again. If you find yourself in need of more arachnid herding, we’ll heed the call,” he says with a laugh.

With a nod, Alisbeth kicks the horse forward and out the gate as Nathaniel opens it for them. The horse doesn’t wait to be spurred forward; he immediately jolts forward to gallop down the path as Alisbeth steers him toward the main road.

Immediately jerking backward, Grimory thrusts both hands forward to wrap around Alisbeth’s middle and locks his wrists at the front. It takes a second before he realizes how closely he’s pulled himself forward and he leans back some, a flush in his cheeks. “Heh. Sorry. Wasn’t…expecting…”

Alisbeth smirks and leans back just a little, putting them in close proximity once more. “Did I say I minded?”

He swallows, genuinely surprised by her wanting to be close to him. He doesn’t complain, however, and tightens his arms around her waist. “I do, by the way.”

“Oh.” She sets her face in aggravated determination and leans forward again. _Aww, how sad. Makes you wish you were dead, doesn’t it. Oh wait! Ha ha!_ Alisbeth physically flinches and looks around for who could’ve spoken to her.

Grimory blinks before realizing how she’d taken it. He laughs and resists the urge to pull her back. “No! Not _mind_. I was saying I _do_ know how to shoe a horse.”

Alisbeth grits her teeth, her knuckles white as she grips the reigns. “That was forever ago.” She waits for another comment from the invisible bystander, but none comes.

Grimory pulls his ears back at the tone in her voice. “Well. Ten minutes or so but I suppose that’s fair, yeah?” He deflates some. _Yeah, I’ll just be quiet._

They ride in an uncomfortable silence, neither willing to be the first to speak, until they reach the outer wall of the Lordaeron ruins. Alisbeth pulls the horse to a stop in front of the front gate and eyes the broken city. “I never got to see it when it was intact.”

The Illidari hops down and his boots scuff against the dirt path. _Yes, you did._ “It wasn’t too different, to be honest. More living people. I used to come here with Father for deliveries.” He lifts his good arm to help her down.

Alisbeth tentatively accepts his help. The horse shifts and shoves her against Grimory; he holds onto her tightly to prevent both of them from toppling over. Upon realizing she’s no longer holding the reigns, the horse whinnies, then turns and gallops back the way they’d come.

Alisbeth blushes up at the demon hunter, letting her chest linger against his for a moment longer, before she takes a step back. She clears her throat. “What sort of deliveries?”

With an embarrassed smile, he slowly removes his arm. “Grain and vegetables, mostly. Sometimes small metal goods like nails, daggers, and rivets that we’d make from scrap metal in our forge.” He offers a bent elbow to escort her up the path into the ruins.

Alisbeth eyes his arm, then sets her hand in the crook of it. “You were a farmer, then? So, you really do know how to shoe a horse?”

He chuckles some. “I’ve shoed more than I can count. We owned quite a few.” He glances over his shoulder at the purple sky and for a long while ponders if he should visit home. He turns back. “But yes. A _farmboy_, as you liked to call me.”

Alisbeth smirks up at him. “Well, it sounds rather adorable. We met here, didn’t we?”

He clears his throat as they step back into the cold, empty throne room. “No. We met on a road near my family’s farm.” He pauses, again feeling a pang of homesickness. “In Hillsbrad.”

“That’s not far from here. Did you want to visit before we leave the area?”

He gives another quiet chuckle and ushers her onto the elevator platform. “I could never let Mother see me this way.” He sobers until his smile has gone completely. “She’d be heartbroken…”

Alisbeth frowns and shakes him a little. “I think a mother’s love is stronger than you think. Besides, I see nothing wrong with how you look.” She goes onto her tip toes and plants a soft, quick kiss on his cheek.

His eyes crackle when her lips meet his face. “They didn’t think _this_ is what I was getting myself into.” He gestures to his horns and leads her down the stairs toward the center of the large circular room. Bats and people bustle about. “I…never told them. And haven’t visited since I left.” He cringes. “I was purposely vague with my letters.”

“When was the last—”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face in this city!” a forsaken woman growls.

Alisbeth hops backward, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Genocidal bitch!” She grabs a fruit from a nearby table and launches it at the death knight.

Grimory reacts quickly, reaching his wounded arm out to bat away the projectile. He scoffs at her. “You’re mistaken,” he barks. “So how about you get back to hocking junk and minding your own business?”

The woman growls. “I’m not mistaken. That’s her. She needs to die. We have to take her head!” she shouts so others around them stop to look. “Before she takes ours!” The crowd murmurs, eyes turning on the two.

Alisbeth shrinks away, a fear spreading through her to mix with anger. She has half an urge to run like hell, but half a mind to draw her blade and take their heads. Her grip tightens on Grimory’s arm. “I think I need to leave,” she whispers.

The demon hunter pushes himself instinctively closer to her and spits at the ground. His arms mutate and the nearby guards withdraw their swords and bows. “You’ll have to get through me to do that, and I honestly don’t think you _vendors and disgruntled citizens_ have the manpower,” he hisses, angry fire billowing from his eyes.

Alisbeth withdraws the Redblade and snarls. “I’ll have your heads before you have mine!” She leaps at the woman.

The forsaken woman draws back, scrambling to get away from Alisbeth. “That’s exactly what I was talking about!”

Grimory again reacts quickly, reaching out to grab Alisbeth around the waist and pull her back. An arrow whizzes through the gap between his face and the back of her head.

“_That’s enough!_” the Deathguard shouts, another arrow already nocked. “Carry on or suffer the consequences!”

Grimory leans forward to whisper. “Always wait for them to strike first.”

Alisbeth turns and presses into the demon hunter, her entire body shaking from fear and anger. “I can’t do this.”

Not listening to the guard, the woman lobs a tomato at the death knight.

An arrow pierces the fruit and it flies off into the pool of green ooze surrounding the platform. One of the Deathguard nearest her grabs the woman by the upper arm and gets in her face with some stern words about authority and imprisonment.

Grimory takes Alisbeth by the hand and pulls her toward the staircase leading to the outer corridor where auction house vendors line the walls, giving a sorry nod to the guard as they pass. “It’s okay. We’ll grab a portal out of here and you’ll never have to deal with it again, yeah?”

Alisbeth bursts into tears as they pass more forsaken, their glowing eyes seeming to fixate on her. _It’s coming back, isn’t it?_ “Who said that?” She demands, spinning to look at the decaying faces around her. “Leave me alone!”

The sound of crying causes him to stop and he turns on his heel. _Oh no._ He pulls her into a hug. “No no, don’t cry. It’ll be all right, yeah? We’ll get out of here. You just gotta hold it together until we do, okay?” He holds her by the shoulders to look at her. “I won’t let them do anything to you.”

Alisbeth grips him as though letting go will hurl her into a black hole. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with me?”

The demon hunter runs a calming palm down the back of her hair and sighs. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with you. Come on.” He cautiously releases her from his arms and slides his hand into hers. He weaves through the vendors and citizens of the Undercity, making sure to hold her close to his side—his knuckles white around her hand. He makes his way toward the magic quarter, skirting along the river of ooze that separates the outside chambers from the inner ones.

Alisbeth stares at her feet as he guides her, doing her best to not look at anyone as she dries her tears. “Are we almost there?”

“Yeah.” He crosses at the bridge and leads her up the steps of the pyramid-shaped chamber. Once there he quickly explains the situation and the mage there nods and opens a portal, then waves a hand when the Illidari attempts to pay for it. He gives her a grateful smile and pulls Alisbeth through and into the sparsely populated streets of Dalaran at dusk, then sighs in relief. “Well. List of places to never go again…” He makes a _check_ shape in the air with a finger.

Alisbeth brushes away the tears on her cheeks, though she’s still shaking. “Thank you.” As though by instinct, she goes on her tip-toes and presses her lips onto his.

Grimory’s eyes light once again and his shoulders tense as he’s taken by surprise. He returns the kiss and smiles gently down at her. “You don’t have to thank me, Ali.” He rolls his injured shoulder and grits his teeth. “Though accompanying me to a healer would be kind…”

Alisbeth blushes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” She averts her gaze. “Of course I’ll go with you. I suppose it’s the least I can do.”

He gives her another coy grin and turns toward the local infirmary, thumbs in his belt loops. “I wasn’t complaining. It’s nice to get your kisses again.”

Alisbeth purses her lips at the demon hunter. “You’re a very confusing individual.”

His grin widens as they enter the first aid building. “Me? Confusing? Mmmmmsorry, I just don’t see it.” He returns a grin to the draenei woman seeing to a couple occupied cots behind curtains.

“Silversong,” she coos and strides over to them, white robes brushing along the stone floor. “Cannot stay out of harm’s way, hm?” She immediately sets to work undoing the makeshift dressings, then presses a hand over the afflicted area. Golden light sparkles from between her fingers and the Illidari winces was the wound seals. “More?” She _tsk_s and shakes her head as she sees to the stab wound as well. Afterward she brings a hand to his cheek and gives it a pat, a smirk playing on her lips. “Get rest,” she simply says and turns back to the cots.

Grimory flushes and chuckles at her musings, then rolls his eyes at her final command. He waits until she’s completely turned away to place some gold on the counter and turns away as well. “I think a shower is in order.”

Alisbeth smiles absently. “Um, have fun?”

He resists a snerk at her words. “You know the way back to your inn, yeah?”

“I do. Oh! I owe that nice goblin some gold for that dress. But I don’t remember where the shop is.” She purses her lips up at him. “Would you mind? After your shower, of course.”

He gives her a sideways glance and shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, of course. I’ll just use the ones at the inn then, instead of going back to the Hammer.” He chuckles. “Logistics.” His ears perk at a familiar figure as they pass just outside the Legerdemain Lounge, To-Do list trailing behind her. “Ana,” he greets with a wave.

“Grim,” she mumbles and continues past and into a nearby shop without a second glance.

The demon hunter deflates a bit and shrugs. “Bad day, maybe,” he muses on a chuckle as though embarrassed and heads for the stairs. He points out Alisbeth’s torn cloak. “Thanks for that…by the way. That was…kind.”

Alisbeth looks at the cloak and shrugs. “It’s just a thing. Hardly worth fretting over.” She smiles and fidgets. “Well, um, I’ll just be in here…when you finish.” She pushes into her room before she makes a bigger fool of herself by lingering.

“Right.” Grimory watches her go. He fidgets in the hallway for a moment before turning and making his way to the showers, unfastening his belt as he goes.


	14. Chapter 14

“Have a nice time?”

Alisbeth jumps and spins to find Taveth still curled up on her bed, his face, a sickly green, poking from within the comforter. “Yes. It was rather nice. Jealous?”

Taveth narrows his eyes. “Not even a little.” He wraps his face in the blanket. “I’m going to hurl. Again.”

After a long time in silence, Alisbeth sits on the bed. “Do you know Grimory well?”

“Mff.”

“He’s rather nice when you get him alone. I quite like him.”

“_Mrrrff_”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Taveth shifts under the comforter. “Mm…hmmm?”

“I kissed him.”

“_I need some air!_” Taveth shoots from the bed and out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind him so fast that Alisbeth can’t react.

After thoroughly scrubbing his hair and ensuring his injuries left no scars, Grimory steps out from behind the curtain and grabs a towel. He frowns when he glances at the pile of blood-stained clothes and armor on the floor, realizing he hadn’t grabbed cleaned ones. He shrugs and scoops them up, then makes for Alisbeth’s room, towel around his waist. He knocks gently with his free hand.

Alisbeth opens the door, her eyes taking just a moment to see the clothes in his hand and the towel around his waist. She jumps and blushes before averting her eyes. “You seem to have a small problem, there.”

“Sorry. I…didn’t grab new clothes.” He clears his throat. “I have some in here. Would you…mind if I…?”

“O-oh! No! Please, by all means.” Alisbeth sort of dances around him as though touching his wet skin is dangerous. She hops out into the hall and smiles up at him. The smile is quickly replaced by an odd look. “Why do you have clothes in my room?”

Grimory gives a quiet laugh and opens the bottom most drawer of the wardrobe while tossing the bloodied pants into the hamper beside it. “I…practically live here, if I’m being honest with you.”

“Oh.” She blushes deeper and closes the door to give him some privacy.

He can’t help but smile at her bashfulness and tosses his towel in the hamper as well.

Hearing the door close, Taveth sighs and decides it’s safe to re-enter the room. _I suppose it’s time for me to return to—_ Taveth stops, his eyes wide and his body frozen against his commands to hop back out the doors and slam them shut.

Grimory’s ears prick as the balcony door closes amidst his unfolding his clean trousers. He pauses as well, slit pupils dilating in panic. His ears pull back and the corners of his lips twitch. “Tav,” is all he’s able to mutter.

Taveth’s face floods a deep crimson as he clears his throat urgently as though somehow he’s been spotted through invisibility. “G-Grim.” Still he can’t move. His eyes painfully fixed on Grimory’s.

The Illidari’s eyes flick quickly to the door and back to Taveth’s. He composes himself and folds his arms across his chest, resting his weight on a heel and smirking as though this were all planned. “So…still hungover I take it?”

Taveth forces a nod. Forces a blink. Wishes desperately for Grimory to finish dressing, yet too petrified to acknowledge the obvious nudity. “Yes…little…fine…yes.”

A flash of mischief glints in Grimory’s eyes and his smirk broadens. “You still a little tipsy yet? You need someone to walk you home again?”

Taveth purses his lips and straightens indignantly. “I don’t need— And besides, you don’t— And you’re—” He blinks rapidly and takes a few calming breaths.

The demon hunter tilts his head as though not hearing. He lowers the pants shielding his groin some and sets the other palm on a chiseled hip. “I’m what?”

Taveth breathes in and holds it, his eyelids fluttering as he becomes too flustered to think. His eyes turn to the ceiling before he squints his entire face. “_Just put your pants on, already!_” he demands so fast he nearly stumbles over the words.

Something within Grimory’s chest tightens and his arms tense as he grasps either side of his trousers. He steps into them and ties them at his waist, a confused and alarmed look in his eyes. He parts his lips but finds no words to retort with.

Taveth opens one eye and peeks at the demon hunter, then blinks at him. “Thank you. Sorry, I…didn’t mean to snap. I should probably…go…”

Befuddlement clouds his mind and Grimory can do nothing but blink rapidly and shake his head. “Y-yeah, no. Don’t worry about it…” he mutters in a semi-aware state.

Taveth’s eyes dart from the door to Grimory, who is standing in such a way that he’d have to pass within a breath of the man. He purses his lips and holds in his breath. “Heh. Should, um, let you…finish. Heh.”

As though snapped from a dream, Grimory straightens and runs a hand through his hair. “Oh! No. ‘M sorry. Lemme just…” He steps aside, pulling the door open for him. “I-I don’t wear shirts, anyway,” he says with a painful laugh.

Alisbeth jumps and smiles at her cousin as he slides out the door as though one more minute in the room will kill him. “Y-yeah. Heh. Th-thanks. Hi, Ali.” He shuffles down the stairs and heads to Greyfang Enclave.

Alisbeth turns her grin on the demon hunter, then tilts her head. “You okay? You look funny.”

Grimory blinks at her. He clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck, then bends to grab his leg armor. “Yeah,” he says on a laugh. “Just…had a weird experience is all.”

She laughs lightly and lets herself into the room. “Did he scare you? I forgot he was on the balcony, sorry.”

He gives another laugh. “Yeah a little. But…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.” He clasps his belt at his waist and sighs. He studies her for a brief second, then smiles tiredly. “There was somewhere you wanted me to take you?”

“Oh! Yes. I need to give money to the goblin.” She pauses. “Um… Do you know where I keep my money?”

He blinks. “Uh. Here? No, actually. I know you have a premium account at the bank, but I’m not sure about this room. Perhaps the wardrobe…”

Alisbeth shrugs and begins digging through one drawer at a time. She eyes Grimory, still, her lips pursed. “You sure you’re okay? You kind of look lost.”

He nods. “Yeah. Just…” He pauses. “Taveth told me to do something and…_I did it,_” he says as though just emphasizing the last words will solidify his meaning.

She stops shuffling through the drawers and cocks her eyebrow at him. “So? Isn’t that just being courteous to others? I mean, what did he even have you do?” She closes the drawer and moves down to the next one.

He shakes his head. “No, no. It’s not like that. I mean, I would have obliged _anyway_, but…my body just moved. Like I was…” He knits his brow. “Y’know what? Never mind. It’s not important.”

Alisbeth smirks. “I really think you’re just tired and over-thinking things. Ah-ha!” She scoops a handful of gold from the fat pouch at the back of the bottom drawer. “Just show me to the shop and then you can go get some rest.” She pats his arm as she steps out the door.

He purses his lips at her speculation, then smirks and folds his arms. He gives a fake yawn that turns into a real one. “Oh, I’m not quite sure I remember where it is, now. Perhaps I’m over-thinking that as well.” He leans against the door frame, eyes bright with humor. “Perhaps I’ll take a rest now.”

Alisbeth blinks at the gold in her hand. “But I have to pay him. And I’m not tired at all. You may use my bed, if you like.”

His grin falls when she completely disregards his joking demeanor. “Never mind, let’s go.” He closes the door and heads for the stairs.

The death knight blinks at him and follows. “Did I say something wrong?”

He chuckles quietly and shakes his head. “No. You’re just all business, now.”

Alisbeth purses her lips at him. “I really don’t see how I could be anything else.”

Grimory shrugs a shoulder as he leads her back into the streets. “There’s no business to do, so I don’t see how you could _be_.”

Alisbeth’s lower eyelids raise up as she stares at him. “It’s like you think I’m someone else.”

The street lamps above flicker on as they pass. He tilts his head to glance at her over his shoulder. “I don’t think I understand your meaning.”

“You make me sound like I _wouldn’t_ be acting this way. My father always said to present yourself in such a way as to be respected, no matter the circumstances.” She clinks the pile of gold in her palm and makes a face. “Besides, paying someone back _is_ business. Is it not?”

Grimory gives a quiet scoff. “Pretty sure he said not to pay him back, so it’s more like charity than business.” He rounds the corner and pauses. Bathed in the light above the door of Gildwynn’s shop is a sign that reads _CLOSED_ in large red letters, followed by _Scram_ in a smaller font below it. Grimory sucks his teeth and turns. “I forgot it’s the weekend. He closes up early.”

Alisbeth frowns at the coins in her palm. “Well, I suppose we could put this gold to another use. Buy you a drink?” She smirks up at him, looking up through her eyelashes.

He smirks in return. “I never pass up a free drink.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders he directs her back down the alley and toward the lounge. “I imagine you’re good at cards?”

“I happen to have an excellent poker face,” she says, smiling and allowing his arm to remain around her.

The demon hunter laughs and seats them both in their usual corner. “I suppose you have no qualm putting your money where your mouth is, then.” He reaches into the cubby-hole in the shelf beside the couch and pulls out a bound deck of worn cards. As he unties the leather throng, his ears perk as, again, a familiar mage steps in.

Anarchaia seems to notice too late, however, as she turns to leave again. Her shoulders go rigid when he calls her name.

“Come have a drink, Ana. Gods know you need one,” he beckons while pushing a chair away from the low coffee table.

Anarchaia sighs after a long second of thought, then turns back. Her list disappears in a flurry of sparkles and she takes up the appointed seat with a forced grin beneath her mask. “I suppose I don’t disagree,” she mumbles, lifting a finger for a barmaid.

“It’s on me,” Alisbeth says with a friendly smile. “I was going to pay back that kind goblin, but the shop is closed. I _know_ he said not to, but I just don’t feel right not doing so.”

Anarchaia blinks, her hand lowering as the waitress approaches them. “O-Oh, I couldn’t…” she says, taken aback.

“Mead,” Grimory orders without much thought, tossing cards at both women and in front of himself.

Alisbeth waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, please.” She smiles up at the barmaid. “My friend and I would like wine… Red? White?” She looks to the mage for the answer.

Anarchaia furrows her brow beneath her mask. “Red is fine,” she says in defeat. “Thanks, Ali.” The barmaid nods and shuffles off after a curt smile.

As they sit in silence for a long time, Alisbeth fidgets, then smiles at the woman across from her. “So, how have you been?”

Anarchaia pushes her mask up when their drinks are brought, then furrows her brow again as though not knowing the question was meant for her. “Oh. Busy, I suppose. Heh. How was your trip?” She picks up her cards and sneers at them.

“Some paladin wouldn’t let us in,” Grimory grunts and takes a long drink of his mead. “Was pretty rude about it.”

“Oh,” the mage says again. “I’m sorry to hear.” She hesitates. “I can go and try to reason with them…?”

Alisbeth rolls her eyes and scoffs at the mere mention of the paladin. “I don’t think Liadrin is reasonable. She probably enjoyed every second she could say no to _me_ just because I’m undead.” She shuffles a few cards around and tosses chips to the table. “She probably always hated me. They all did.”

Anarchaia frowns and calls the bet. “It may be a rude question, but may I ask why?” She sips at her wine.

The death knight shrugs. “Because I’m better than her?”

The mage snerks at her attitude. “Jealousy is a virulent poison, indeed.” Her smile suddenly falls and she slowly sets down her wine, impacted by her own words. Her grin returns. “Then perhaps we could just teach her better. Without words.”

Grimory gives Anarchaia a smirk. “She was pretty tough, Ana. Incapacitated me.”

“A murloc could incapacitate you.”

His smirk immediately scrunches to pursed lips. “That was once. I was seventy.”

Alisbeth coughs on her wine and stares at him. “Seventy is no excuse! You have to tell me what happened.”

Grimory turns his narrowed eyes to Alisbeth as though surprised by her pushing. “I was fishing with Father. He left for more tackle. I caught something, but it wasn’t a fish. Apparently, when Father came back it was trying to carry me off in a salvaged net.” He scoffs moodily and downs the rest of his drink.

Anarchaia chortles into her cards. “I bet it thought you were a beautiful maiden with your luxurious ponytail.”

Alisbeth forces her giggle to subside into small shaking. “Murlocs are stupid enough to do such a thing.”

Taveth appears in the doorway to the tavern, then stops and turns to walk away. He turns to enter the tavern again, then bobs from view once more. He does this several times, wanting to go in, but too scared to face Grimory again.

Anarchaia catches the strange sight and chortles. She lifts a hand and violet energy surrounds Taveth’s feet, forcing him to come in far enough for everyone to see. “Tav!” she says. “Come. Have a drink.”

Offering little more than a glance, Grimory gathers the cards after pushing the chips toward Alisbeth, then says nothing while he shuffles.

Taveth forces a painful grin. “Heh. I-I don’t want anything to drink. I just need to, eh, speak with…” He coughs awkwardly and sifts. “Grimory, if you don’t mind?”

Alisbeth blinks at her cousin, then goes about stacking her new chips as though it’s the most important thing in the world that they’re color-coordinated, stacked ten-high, and perfectly set together so none stick out of the side of the cylinder of chips.

The Illidari’s ears prick at the sound of his name and his slit pupils slide to meet Taveth’s. He inhales and sets down the cards. “Yeah, sure.” He stands and follows.

Anarchaia glances over the table at Alisbeth and her pillars, then down at her own uneven pile. The chips arrange themselves into a checkered array and she sighs. “Hey, uhm,” she mutters. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

Alisbeth raises her eyebrows at the mage. “Hmm? For what?”

“For being super rude,” she responds with a wince and drinks her wine.

Alisbeth shrugs. “I’m sure you have your reasons. Named Koltira. Whom, according to Grim, I was married to? You have no competition from me. I have no desire to get involved with any of that.” She sips her wine, ignoring that she can’t taste anything. “I’m not a homewrecker, either.”

Anarchaia grits her teeth at the word _homewrecker_. “Yeah…but…I suppose I kind of am. I…feel terribly for it and treating you like an enemy isn’t the answer to my insecurity. So, I’m sorry.” She downs the rest of her own wine in her anxiety. “You’re a nice girl.”

Alisbeth lets loose a quick _Ha!_ “I don’t think I’ve heard that compliment a single time in my life. Thank you. I’m sure you didn’t mean it—being a homewrecker. You’re too nice to have done so intentionally. I’m sure it was the man’s fault. He was probably a complete asshole and I hope he’s out of your life.” She signals the barmaid for a refill on Anarchaia’s drink.

The mage cringes again. “We’re…still…_together_, I suppose you could call it.” She frowns and mumbles a thank you to the waitress. “Though I’m sure he’s probably done with me after the way I acted.” She groans and puts her hands over her face. “I’m really not a nice person.”

Alisbeth shrugs. “Buy him a vase of flowers. If he doesn’t accept your apology then _smash it over his head!_” She clears her throat and straightens her shirt. “I’m sorry. I have no idea where that came from. I was _intending_ to say, ‘good riddance.’”

Anarchaia gives an uncomfortable chuckle and waves a hand. “I couldn’t do that. I like him too much. Heh.” She sips at her wine. “Though, you’re tough and independent. I’m sure you’d have no problem.”

Alisbeth cocks an eyebrow. “First of all, I doubt you’re not. Second… Are you asking me to hit him for you?”

The mage straightens. “N-no! No.” She can’t help but laugh. “I’ll just talk with him. It’s fine. And I’m really not, I…” A sigh escapes her. “I rely a lot on others. I’m not proud of it but…it’s a habit I can’t break.”

Alisbeth smiles coyly. “Have you ever _tried_ to?”

Anarchaia shrugs and fidgets with her fingers. “I did. Once. Before…everything. Others became a necessity in my life. When you lose everything you have, you suddenly want it all back tenfold.”

Alisbeth reaches across to gently pat the mage’s hand. “I think you’re stronger than you’re letting yourself believe.”

Anarchaia gives a small smile. “That’s…probably untrue.”


	15. Chapter 15

Taveth leads Grimory into the alley and takes a few breaths to embolden himself enough to speak. “I wanted to apologize for this morning. And for…when I was drunk.”

The demon hunter folds his arms and sets his weight on a hip. “No need to apologize. No one was hurt.” He narrows his eyes. “Physically.”

Taveth flinches and stares at his feet. “Perhaps it’s best we try to pretend it never happened? I’m willing if you are.”

Grimory clenches his jaw and sighs. “Look, Tav. I know you were drunk and didn’t mean anything by it, and I’m more than willing to go on like it didn’t happen, but…it’ll always be there, y’know?”

Taveth purses his lips. “Why can’t you just…”

The Illidari tilts his head. “Just what? Act like it’s fine? Like I’m into you, too? As much as I’d like to, Tav—and trust me I would…”

Taveth jumps as Grimory’s words jar him. “What? No, _no!_ That’s not what I even— I just want you to forget about it, okay? Forget about the kiss, forget about this afternoon. Is that really so much to want?”

Grimory’s ears fall slightly and he blinks. “Is what so much to want?”

Taveth’s eyelids fall in annoyance. “To forget. You heard me! Don’t be an… Don’t be rude about it.”

Grimory narrows his eyes in return. “Forget what? I…honestly have no clue what you mean.”

Taveth’s eyes flash behind the glass of his spectacles and he sucks in an indignant breath. “You are absolutely infuriating, you know that? Just _maddening_.” He turns on his heel and strides into the tavern, then drops down beside Alisbeth. He scoffs to himself and folds his arms.

She pauses when she hears Taveth’s angry footfalls and blinks up at him before he sits. “Is…everything all right?”

Grimory stops momentarily, brow knit in confusion. After a brief period of thought, he shrugs and returns to his seat, but not without giving Taveth a concerned glance. “I think I need more mead…”

Taveth makes a face at the demon hunter. “Yeah, well, I’m hungover and I could use a drink, too, after your childish behavior.” He scoffs and mutters, “Get me a glass of wine to make up for it.”

Alisbeth laughs at his muttering. “He’s not going to get you a drink, Tav.”

_Make up for what?!_ Grimory stands. “What kind?” Eyes widening ever so slightly, his lips purse and the cords in his neck tighten as he resists the urge to cover his mouth.

Anarchaia lifts her eyebrows at the demon hunter’s behavior. She glances over at Taveth and chuckles incredulously.

Taveth’s eyes widen back at the demon hunter. “Uh…” He blinks quickly. His mind rushes to think, but another thought finds him instead of a drink order. “Get me a white wine.”

Turmoil flashes through Grimory’s eyes and his fists clench at his sides. He passes the mage to go to the bar.

Anarchaia scrambles to drink the rest of her wine and, with a smile, turns with the empty cup. “I like red, Grim!”

“Fuck off, yeah?”

She deflates and purses her lips before turning and setting the cup back down with a shrug. “Worth a try.”

Taveth practically flails out of his seat, then presses his palms over his mouth.

Alisbeth cocks her eyebrow at him. “Everything okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” he says into his hands.

The Illidari returns with a glass of a sweet white and places it before Taveth with as little enthusiasm as possible. He looks down at him with narrowed eyes. “Anything else?”

Taveth makes direct eye contact with Anarchaia, then flicks his eyes at the demon hunter, hinting that she should watch. “Get Ana a refill.” He holds up the glass for Grimory.

An incredulous anger fills his eyes and Grimory straightens. He swipes the glass from Taveth’s hand and returns to the bar.

Anarchaia gapes as he goes and smiles at Taveth. “Why? How?”

Taveth shakes his head. “I think… But I’m not sure… But I think…” He removes his glasses and pinches his nose in thought. “It can’t be possible.”

Anarchaia furrows her brow but her smile remains. <<Did you _enslave him?_>> she asks in Gutterspeak, then clears her throat as a glass of wine is shoved in her face. “Oh. Thanks, Grim. You’re a doll.”

The demon hunter grunts and retakes his seat. He glances over at Alisbeth’s cup and gives a defeated sigh. “Would you like something as well?”

Alisbeth pushes her glass away and smiles. “No, no. I’m completely fine.”

Taveth purses his lips. <<Spinewing, yes. He was going to kill all of you! But I didn’t enslave Grimory.>>

“Are you sure? You’re probably the only one I’d enjoy waiting on at the moment.” He gives a tired yet charming grin.

<<What? When?>> The mage shakes her head. <<The two’s souls are intertwined,>> Anarchaia explains after a sip of her wine. She chortles after a second. <<Oh gods this is great. I’ve never wanted to be a warlock so badly.>>

“I’m sure. In fact, I’m going to go get that mead you didn’t have the chance to get.” She gives his hand a little squeeze, then goes to the bar.

<<Azsuna. When you overtaxed yourself and that drunkard monk got hit in the face by Ali’s axe.>> Taveth sips his wine, reminding himself to go easy. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a small smile. <<Apparently only one warlock ever did it before. He wrote a book—only one copy exists—and put the word on a page. I honestly don’t know why I said it, other than to summon something big enough to make a difference. >>

Grimory watches her go and after a moment his face softens. He returns to shuffling his cards and dealing hands, fully aware that the two he’s left with are speaking about him.

“That’s pretty neat,” Anarchaia says with raised eyebrows. “I’m rather jealous, actually. Turns out being a simple _scholar_ has its perks. Heh.”

A crooked smile spreads across Taveth’s face. “Heh. Yes, well, knowledge is power.”

Alisbeth hands Grimory his mead and sits beside him, scooting close to make herself cozy against his side.

Anarchaia gives a chuckle. “It certainly is.” She throws a ten-gold chip into the center of the table and eyes the couple beside her through her mask before checking the clock above the bar.

Grimory takes a large drink of his mead and calls the ante with his own chip before draping an arm over the back of the sofa behind Alisbeth. “So, how’s Kolt? You two are normally attached at the hip when you aren’t busy… Or should I say _hips_.”

The mage whirls back around to scowl at him. “I haven’t seen him since this morning, actually.” She sobers though hides it behind a smile. “Though, I imagine he’s throwing darts at a picture of my face.”

Taveth cocks an eyebrow at her. “What did you do?”

Anarchaia glances between Alisbeth, Grimory, and back to Taveth. She clears her throat. <<I-I got jealous and…bailed on him. Rudely.>>

<<Know where he is? Can you contact him?>> the high elf asks insistently.

Alisbeth leans in to whisper in the demon hunter’s ear. “They sound like cats hacking up fur balls.” She giggles into her palm after.

<<I’m afraid to send a letter. I think I’ll just wait until I see him again. Heh.>>

Grimory snerks into his cup. “There’s a reason they call it _Gutterspeak_.”

Taveth ignores the two and leans forward. <<I can uh…send a messenger, if you like?>> He winks and slides his eyes toward the demon hunter.

Panic sets in the mage’s face and she waves her hands. “No no,” she says, “that won’t be necessary. I’ll just…lie in the bed I made.”

Taveth _hrumph_s and folds his arms. “Fine.”

Alisbeth growls impatiently. “What are you two going on about?”

“Nothing,” Anarchaia says with a nervous laugh. “So, what have you been up to, Tav? More research? How’s Diori?”

Taveth sighs and leans back. “I slept in Alisbeth’s bed all day. Then I left and I slept in my own bed. Diori has been with our sister in the meantime.”

Anarchaia chuckles as she recalls the previous night. “Oh, right. You could have called for me. We have some rehydration tinctures in the Hall.”

Grimory leans his head back against the backrest as the mead and tiredness hit him at once. “Or just not drink more than you’re used to.”

Taveth makes a face at the demon hunter, then turns to the mage. “You’d think my sister would have told me that.”

“Except that she’s a bitch whose only talent is screwing her teachers so she gets good grades,” Alisbeth says absently.

Anarchaia’s mouth drops open and she laughs. “Oh my gods,” she says accompanied by more, incredulous laughter. She looks at Taveth. “That can’t be true. It’s against the rules!”

“You’d know all about that,” Grimory drones to the ceiling, then flinches when a poker chip hits him hard in the pectoral.

“I’ve already told you that’s not true. Stop bringing it up,” she hisses.

Taveth blushes. “I-I honestly wouldn’t know.”

Alisbeth scoffs. “Come on. Kel’ori? A mage? In _Dalaran?_”

He sips on his wine, his eyes darting to and from hers. “Maybe she did _something_…unscrupulous to get here?”

“I don’t think she could have.” Anarchaia pauses and taps her chin. “Though rumors have been going on about Aethas and _his_ apprentice…” She shakes her head. “I’ve ran into Kel’ori a few times. She doesn’t seem the type. Though I suppose you’d know better…?”

Alisbeth shrugs. “I’ll accept it without proof.”

Taveth purses his lips. “That’s mean.”

“She’s mean.” Alisbeth shrugs. “Any adventures planned for anyone?”

Grimory snorts. “An adventure to bed perhaps.”

Anarchaia can’t help but smirk at the girl’s pettiness. “I don’t think helping Master clear the cobwebs in Karazhan counts as an _adventure_, but it’s the best I’ve got.” She chuckles. “I’m open for invitations, though. Anything to ditch my To-Do list.”

Taveth shrugs. “I’ve got nothing. And even though I slept most of the day, I agree with Grimory’s sentiments.”

Alisbeth frowns. “It’s strange not sleeping.”

“Good to know I’m not a _complete_ idiot, then,” Grimory grumbles beneath his breath.

“I can grab you a potion if you’d like. It’ll knock you out for eight hours.” Anarchaia shrugs. “Gods know we have plenty at the citadel. No one uses them.”

Taveth sets his unfinished wine on the table. “That’s it for me. I have to get Diori and feed us dinner.” He gives Grimory an odd look. “You really don’t remember.” He laughs as though a weight has lifted from his shoulders.

Alisbeth stands to hug him. “Goodnight. I’ll, um, be here. Maybe take Ana up on her offer.”

The demon hunter furrows his brow and lifts his head to watch the other man go. “Remember _what?_” he hisses though he doesn’t expect a reply.

Anarchaia reaches across the table to take Taveth’s cup and drain it of the rest. “Good night, Tav.” She gives a wave and wipes at her lower lip with a knuckle. “Need someone to walk you home?” she chortles.

He gives Anarchaia a sly grin. “Only if you want to. Oh, and Grim. Take Alisbeth up to bed and see if you two can’t have a nice time.” His grin turns on Alisbeth.

The death knight blushes and looks down at Grimory, her mouth gone dry and her breath stopped.

Grimory stands as soon as the last word is spoken. He bends at the waist to pick the death knight up in his arms, all the while giving her an apologetic smile. “Forgive me,” he manages to breathe and hauls her off toward the staircase.

Alisbeth smiles awkwardly as the demon hunter sets her down. “I…could’ve walked. But, thank you.”

Grimory resists cringing. “Trust me, I know you could’ve.” He sighs, gives a tired smile, and chuckles. “Good room service, though, yeah?”

Alisbeth laughs timidly. “Sure. So…goodnight, then?”

Something inside the demon hunter forces him to linger, standing over her and gazing into her frosty eyes. He swallows, then, hesitantly, lowers his lips to hers.

Alisbeth goes up on her toes to press into his kiss, then pulls away just enough to speak. “What if I’m scared?”

Grimory has to think for a second before he catches her meaning. He can’t help but smile at the memory and the similarities of the moment. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

She pauses, then nods. “Okay.”

~ * ~

Anarchaia places a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. “I don’t think you realize the implications of this, Tav.” She a stands and laughs. She holds out an arm and clears her throat. “Your escort is ready, good sir.”

Taveth first drops one hundred gold into the mage’s palm, then wraps his arm around hers. “I may be a poor man, but the terror on her face was kind of funny. And worth it.”

She blinks down at the money and scrunches her face as she leads him out into the streets. “What’s this for? You keep it. And it’s a good thing you used ambiguous language or he may have forced himself on her.” She laughs. “But seriously. You should use this power only for good.”

Taveth blushes as she makes him keep the money. “I didn’t intend to use it for evil. But…I made him forget. The kiss, this afternoon… All of it!”

Anarchaia’s eyes widen. “You what?”

Taveth’s shoulders rise to his ears as he cringes. “It was an accident?”

The mage’s eyes narrow some and she smirks. “Accident. Right.” She chuckles.

Taveth frowns. “It was. I was just commenting on him forgetting, and he did. I mean, unfortunately, I can’t. But, I mean, it’s something…right?”

Anarchaia’s shoulders briefly raise as she snorts a laugh. “Well now you can interact with him without feeling awkward, right?” She elbows him in the ribs as they near Greyfang Enclave. “And maybe get a second chance to do it right.”

“I…don’t think that’ll be happening ever again.” Taveth smiles some and leans his head down onto the side of hers. “Why are you so nice to me?”

The mage flinches, not having expected it, then straightens. A flush touches her cheeks and she shrugs as though unbothered. “You make it sound as though there’s a reason not to be.”

He straightens as they reach the archway to the Enclave. “Most people just write me off as some book worm.”

She gives a curt wave to the large worgen guard who allows them to pass—not without turmoil in his face as he eyes the mage. “I know how you feel.” She brings a hand up to pat him on the arm that’s wrapped around hers. “You’re a good guy, Tav. You deserve more than you get. Really, you do.”

Taveth eyes the guards as they let the mage through. “I don’t feel I really _deserve_ more, or really want it. I— Did they just let you in without causing a scene?”

She furrows her brow as she turns to look up at him. “I’ve lived here for twenty years, and, Taveth, why wouldn’t you? I see how your eyes light up when he gives you compliments and does nice things. Don’t you want someone who has that same reaction to _you_?”

Taveth stares at his feet and smiles shyly. “I…like having friends. But I wouldn’t even know what to do…” He pushes his door open and frowns at the scene as Diori and Kel’ori sit on his bed, having dinner of spiced apples and toasted bread. Apple syrup and crumbs decorate his comforter. “I— Y— Gah! In _my_ bed?”

Diori grins between her stuffed cheeks, eyes lighting up at the sight of her cousin. “_Terbbif!_” she says through apples and lifts her arms expectantly, flinging more mess.

Anarchaia places fingers over her mouth and chuckles. “It’s awful late for dessert, no?”

Despite the mess, Taveth goes and wraps his arms around Diori and picks her up in a big hug. “I’ll let it slide, this once. Only because I haven’t seen you all day.”

Kel’ori makes a face. “Cause you were _where?_”

“I was with _cousin Ali_,” he hisses.

The mage in the doorway lifts a hand and, with it, each crumb and drop of sticky goo rise as well. In a swirl of foodstuffs, the mass throws itself into the trashbin near the wall. “We were all chatting. I hope I don’t have him home too late. Heh.”

Diori swallows her mouthful and frowns up at him. “You went without me? I want to see Ali, too.” She weakly hits him on the chest.

Taveth feigns injury. “Oh, well, we were too busy and now she’s spending time with Grimory.”

Kel’ori stares at the mage as she taps the fork to her teeth in thought. “So, you two spend a lot of time together…”

“Kel’ori, go home.”

Anarchaia blushes again at the implication, but snickers despite herself. “Is that so wrong that we do?” she asks the elf woman as she passes.

Diori’s frown deepens. “I wanna see Grim, too! Let’s go right now. I bet they’re still up.” She wiggles to be let go.

Kel’ori sticks her tongue out at Taveth, then shrugs at the mage. “Except that you’re a real person. He better be treating you right, though, or I’ll get dad up here.”

Taveth grips Diori as tight as his weak muscles can. “I assure you, they’re sleeping. We’ll see them tomorrow. I promise.”

Diori fusses more and whines. “_Fiiiiiiiiiine_. I want more apples, though. Can I have more? Oh! And a story! _Pleeeeaaaaase?_”

Taveth groans and sets the girl on her own bed. “No more apples, it’s bedtime already. And yes, you can have any story you like.”

Anarchaia grins and bites her lip as though holding back but finds she can’t stop herself. “Oh, he does. As right as Kalec treats you.”

Kel’ori’s smile fluctuates the smallest bit. “Oh, that’s…” She clears her throat and stands to gather the dishes. “It was nice seeing you again, Anarchaia.” A bright smile spreads across her lips. “I’m sure Khadgar doesn’t mind you spending so much _time_ with my brother. You only live once, why not have _both_?” She strides from the room before any retaliation can be sent her way.

Anarchaia’s jaw clenches and her teeth tighten to a point where she can hear it. “Oh, I assure you he doesn’t,” she hisses beneath her breath. She clears her throat and turns. “Well. Until next time.” She bends down to lift her mask and flash Diori a longing smile. “You be good for Taveth, okay?”

The small Quel’dorei gives a timid nod as though she hadn’t just been throwing a mild tantrum. “Okay, mask lady. Have a good night.”

The mage pushes a stray lock from Diori’s eye and nods before straightening again. She makes for the door, robes swirling. “Good night, Tav.”

Taveth nods and waves. “You, too, Ana. And…don’t let my sister get to you. She’s… Alisbeth is right about her temperament. Heh.”

Anarchaia gives a wave of dismissal as she reaches the door. “Oh, it’s no big deal, heh.” She pulls her mask down to hide her scowl though her voice remains bright. “I’ve dealt with worse. Night, you two!” She closes the door in her wake then, once back out into the streets, kicks over an empty trash bin.


End file.
